Breaking the Cycle
by Nevermore
Summary: With the fleet divided and on the brink of civil war, an old leader returns to lead the survivors in an unexpected direction. Sequel to 'Adrift in the Acheron.' All characters.
1. The View From the Frying Pan

Battlestar Galactica 2003 is a copyright of the Sci Fi Channel. Battlestar Galactica is a trademark and copyright of Universal Studios. Ron Moore re-imagined Glen A. Larson's original idea; but then again, most people who would be reading this already know that. My use is in no way intended to challenge or infringe upon any established copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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**Author's Notes:** This story is a sequel to my earlier _Battlestar Galactica_ fics, _The Dark at the End of the Tunnel_ and _Adrift in the Acheron_. It is rather necessary to read those stories before reading this.

As usual, I've done a bit of research for my fic. From a BSG standpoint, I found The Battlestar Galactica Wikipedia to be an invaluable resource for all things _Battlestar Galactica_.

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**Breaking the Cycle**  
by  
**Nevermore**

"_All this has happened before. All this will happen again."_ _– Pythia_

**I – The View from the Frying Pan**

"Absolutely not," Admiral Adama barked. He'd been forced to deny Tigh's requests to send a boarding so many times that he was finally starting to lose patience.

"I'm not saying we should send in the marines right now," Tigh argued, finally backing from the hard-line stance that essentially boiled down to, 'We don't negotiate with terrorists – we use them for target practice.' "I only want to sit down with Rutger – and maybe Starbuck – to see what our options are. If he forces our hand, we don't want to be flying by the seat of our pants."

"Fine," Adama relented, silently conceding his XO's point. The admiral glanced across at Lee, who seemed satisfied with the decision. "And now that that's done…"

"Informants," Tigh muttered.

"Right," Adama agreed. He bristled at the mention of this problem; it hadn't been a full hour after _Galactica_ found the fleet when the wireless frequencies lit up with news that the cylon prisoner had given birth to a cylon-human hybrid. _Only the people on my ship had access to that information,_ Adama knew, _and one of them felt it appropriate to pass that on to a terrorist who fashions himself President._ As much as the admiral was angered by Zarek's actions, he was immeasurably more infuriated by his own people's betrayal.

"We could assign Hadrian to the problem," Tigh suggested.

"We've been down that road before," Adama said. "As bad as it is now, I don't know that initiating an Inquisition is the best course of action."

"We can't do nothing," Lee said, pointing out the obvious. The admiral knew his son was new to his responsibilities, but he wished that Lee would be more assertive. _He has ideas; he should share them._ "News of the child is only making things worse for our position."

"That issue isn't the problem," Tigh responded with a sigh. "News of… that thing is only a symptom of the problem."

"If he knows about Sharon's baby, that means he has informants on my ship," the older Adama muttered under his breath, intense fury shining through in his tone despite the fact that his words were almost completely inaudible.

"And if he has access to information, he may have access to a lot more," Tigh reasoned.

The admiral didn't miss the implication – assassination and sabotage might be available remedies to Zarek's predicament. It wouldn't be the first time Zarek used violence to solve a problem. "Commander, I'm transferring Sharon and her child to your ship for the time being," Adama said.

It took a moment for Lee to realize his father was talking to him – he still wasn't used to being referred to as a commander or to having a ship of his own. "Yes, sir," he finally managed, though he immediately thought better of it. "You haven't forgotten the cylon prisoner on my ship, have you?" he asked, remembering the cylon that Caine's crew had brutalized for months before he took command. "Do you really think it's a good idea to have Sharon, her baby, and the other cylon on the same ship?"

"No," the admiral admitted, "but I don't see much of an alternative. We haven't mixed crews yet – except for Starbuck and Cottle, anyway, and I think we can trust them," he said with a conspiratorial smirk, "so it's safe to assume Zarek doesn't have anyone loyal to him on _Pegasus_. If things get bad, I may ask you to leave the system, maybe put Sharon and the child somewhere for safe keeping. It's not like we're going to be able to hide either of them anywhere else in the fleet."

"Understood," Lee responded. _Put them somewhere else for safe keeping?_ he wondered. _Like where, exactly? The Ceti Alpha system is one of two places we've found that actually has a habitable planet. The other is LV-426, which has a sacked cylon outpost that we can never return to, since you gotta know the cylons will be back eventually._

"If you send _Pegasus_ away, even for a little while, it'll leave us in a less powerful bargaining position," Tigh pointed out.

"That doesn't matter," Adama replied. "Those are all that remain of our people on those ships over there – it's not like we can afford to start shooting, anyway. _Pegasus's_ main value was in the initial surprise her arrival gained us. That didn't provide the breakthrough I'd hoped for, so now we have to find another way. This isn't something we can fight our way out of – we have to think, and talk, and bargain, and lie. Two battlestars or one, it'll make little difference; we don't need both of them to overwhelm an unarmed fleet of civilians."

"I'd prefer a problem that weapons could solve," Tigh admitted.

"Me too," Adama agreed.

Lee was surprised to hear his father say that – he'd never known him to favor a military solution when a peaceful resolution was possible – but after a moment's consideration he could see the logic in the statement. _We're trained to fight, not to negotiate. We're stuck in a war of words and ideas, and Zarek's the enemy. I don't see how we can win without using force… he's got us right where he wants us right now._

"We can't start shooting," the admiral acknowledged, "but that doesn't mean we're going to sit on our hands, either. I'm going to order the _Aether_ to spin up the white noise generator, have her cut off wireless communications between the other ships. Zarek's biggest weapon right now is propaganda… I don't see why we should make it easy for him to spread his ideas."

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"More coffee?" Colonel Tigh asked, gripping the pot tightly in his hand.

"No thanks," Major Rutger answered. "If I have any more, I won't sleep for a week."

"Not like you're going to, anyway," Tigh muttered. He filled his own cup and walked back to the table. For the umpteenth time, he started looking over the schematics for Colonial One. "We can't do this without getting some people killed."

"No, we can't," Rutger agreed.

"Any new ideas?" Tigh asked. They'd been poring over the schematics and their rosters for hours, trying to find the perfect unit to handle the challenges presented by a raid on the president's ship. As large as the ship was, it had been thoroughly remodeled since the attacks in order to serve as an administrative ship. The vessel was now honeycombed with offices, cubicles, narrow hallways, and newly-installed blast-doors. Armor plating had been welded to the most vulnerable areas of the hull, complicating any entry, and the most capable men they could muster in the fleet now served as the presidential security detail. Any incursion would entail sending in a small number of men who would have to deal with an unknown level of resistance. _And that's assuming Zarek's people don't just seal off and depressurize whatever section we enter,_ Tigh thought, not for the first time.

"They'll know we're coming," Rutger said. "They have the defensive position. And their security is run by a guy named Walter Matton. He's good, an ex-marine who went into private security before the cylon attack. If he has the time and materials, I'd expect him to make unexpected changes to the layout – even beyond the changes we already know about – maybe add or remove doors in unexpected places to throw us off. Just navigating through the ship will be a bitch."

"A frakking nightmare," Tigh agreed. "I can't believe it came to this."

"And of course, Zarek picked the best possible time to pull this off," Rutger added.

"He did, at that," Tigh muttered angrily. "And I guarantee it was no accident."

"Sir?"

"It's something we were discussing earlier," Tigh explained, remembering the fleet command meeting. "Zarek has people all over the fleet who are loyal to him, who give him information that he uses to his advantage. Hell, despite all of our security precautions, he probably knew about our assault on LV-426 before Baltar did."

"Which means he had plenty of time to plan his coup before staging it moments after _Galactica_ jumped away."

"Exactly," Tigh said.

"Maybe we should get Captain Kelly in here to join us," Rutger suggested.

"Huh?" Tigh asked.

"I think your wife mentioned one time that Kelly's first assignment was on the _Nereus_," Rutger explained. "That was a light tactical support ship; he must've sat in on tactical op planning meetings before."

"Humph," Tigh grunted. He waited a few moments, feigning renewed, intent interest in the schematics before he said anything else. "When did you have a chance to talk to my wife?"

"I ran into her a couple of times on _Cloud Nine_," Rutger said. "When I was on R & R. She plays her role well."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Tigh snapped, turning toward the marine.

"She's the wife of a flag officer," Rutger responded immediately. "Like the old saying goes, behind every successful command officer is a spouse who understands politics. She can definitely work a room, Sir. I'd say that's a valuable asset. Or it was before everything went to hell."

"Yeah," Tigh muttered, pushing out of his mind just how good he knew Ellen was when it came to getting other officers to divulge their secrets. But then another thought occurred to him, and his stomach sank immediately. "So you've seen Ellen talking to Captain Kelly, too?"

"Well, not exactly, Sir," Rutger said. "I was over on the _Myrmidon_ when she visited one time. My understanding is that she had a meeting with Kelly."

"Oh," Tigh said, satisfied by the tone of his voice that he was doing a good job of sounding disinterested, as if he was only making small talk while he continued making plans in his head. "When was that?"

"Not long ago. Probably a few days before the assault on LV-426."

"Uh-huh," Tigh said, though his mind was racing down an unsettling track. _A few days before the attack. Which means she may have been able to get info on the attack from Kelly. Kelly would never have spoken to Zarek, but Ellen might have. If she got it in her head that supporting Zarek would be good for us, she might be foolish enough to make a move behind my back. I've overlooked a lot over the years, but if she had something to do with this, and if I find out she's the one who spread word about that thing that popped out of the cylon…_

"Sir?"

"What was that?" Tigh asked, realizing that he must not have been paying attention when the marine asked something.

"Should I contact Captain Kelly and see if he might be able to help us?"

"Not quite yet," Tigh answered. _The last thing I want right now is to see his face. Not if he gave Ellen any crucial information that resulted in this mess._ "Let's go over it all again, first." _Before I waste my time chasing false leads, I'll track down Ellen and just ask her outright. I'll know if she's lying. And after she proves she had nothing to do with any of this, I'll be able to focus on work again._

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"I don't see why you're requesting a transfer," Lee said, getting right to the point, leaving everything else for later in their meeting.

"Sir?" Kara asked, seated perfectly still, her hands clasped atop the folder on her lap.

"You don't have to 'Sir' me in here, Kara," Lee told her.

"With all due respect, Commander, I think we should keep our relationship as formal as possible," she replied. "You're in command of a battlestar now, and I command your air group."

"Fine," Lee sighed. "Captain." He looked Kara over, wishing that he had the vaguest idea what she was thinking. So often he could read her like an open book, even when others were cursing her for being too guarded. He'd always wondered how people couldn't see every single one of her feelings put out there for all to see, spelled out in the lights dancing behind her eyes. But now he finally saw what everyone else had apparently been seeing over all those years. _She's a mystery to me now,_ he admitted to himself, wondering how in hell that had happened in the matter of a couple of weeks.

"I think it's more appropriate for me to be assigned primarily to the _Galactica_, and to stay there unless there's a pressing matter that requires me to come here temporarily," Kara said. "It's the logical decision."

"How do you figure?"

"Admiral Adama is the battle group's commanding officer, and the _Galactica_ is his ship," Kara pointed out. "Since all of our fighters have been rolled into one air group, it makes sense for the CAG to be on the _Galactica_, with the admiral."

"And you already spend half your time there," Lee responded. "You've asked to be assigned there permanently. You've asked not to come to my ship at all unless you absolutely have to."

"Yes." Kara concentrated on taking a deep, relaxing breath, making certain Lee never noticed. She didn't want him to know how much trouble she was having with this meeting. _My ship,_ she noticed Lee call _Pegasus_. Another deep breath. She knew that he hadn't adjusted to having a ship yet, and thus when he said 'my ship,' he meant 'my home.' He was taking this personally, and she didn't know whether to feel good or bad about that.

"So that's your reasoning?" Lee asked.

"There's also the current instability," Kara added, choosing the next item on her disappointingly short mental list of half-assed excuses to get off of Lee's ship. "If the Admiral decides that some type of assault is required, it'll obviously use Raptors and probably a few Vipers as air cover. As the CAG, I'll be in on those meetings and probably a part of a strike team. It makes no sense to have me on another ship."

"There's always going to be a crisis of one sort or another," Lee said. "The Admiral and I knew that when we assigned you this duty and decided to rotate you between the ships."

"This isn't just another crisis," Kara argued. "We're talking about the possibility of an assault that could start a civil war. That's a bit more serious."

"More serious than what?" Lee asked. "When we assigned this position to you, we contemplated crises ranging from a disabled freighter to an all-out cylon attack. You're an excellent pilot and a fine officer, Starbuck. I don't see why you're asking for this."

_Please don't make me beg,_ Kara pleaded silently. She was thankful that as of yet Lee hadn't mentioned the fact that all of the nuggets had been transferred to _Pegasus_ to train on the ship's state of the art Mark VII simulators, or that the Pegasus had a whole ship's worth of pilots she had a responsibility to get to know, or even that she, herself, could do with some simulator time to get re-acclimated to a Mark VII's controls. _He could shoot this down any time he wants, but he's giving me the option of withdrawing my request. Just like a good commander should. Bastard._

"Is something amusing?" Lee asked, noticing a flicker of a smile pass over Kara's lips, never reaching her eyes.

"No," she said. "No, Sir."

"You're not the only one who has to adjust to new responsibilities," Lee said.

"I know," Kara said. She saw the doubt in Lee's expression, the uncertainty and stress. And she saw how hard he was trying to hide it all, even from her. But then Lee's expression turned back to stone, though now Kara realized she wasn't alone. _In fact, it's probably worse for him,_ she admitted to herself, disappointed that empathizing meant admitting that she was actually better off than the man she was angry with for not giving her a release from unwanted responsibilities. _Although it's not just the responsibilities,_ a voice whispered in the back of her mind. She dutifully chased that thought away.

"I'll consider your request," Lee finally said. "Let me know if you change your mind."

"Yes, Sir," Kara said, noting the translation to Lee's words was, 'You have a short time to withdraw your request, and I think it's best if you do that before I have to deny it outright.'

"Is that all, Captain?"

"Yes, Sir," Kara said, turning crisply on her heel, walking out into the hall. She started walking briskly toward the gym, hoping that maybe she could fit in a short workout to burn off her frustration. _Then I may as well go back up there and give Lee what he wants,_ she decided, hating the thought of withdrawing her request less than a day after submitting it.

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"Hey," Billy said, his eyes alight when he noticed Dee in the hall.

"Hey," Dee replied. "Got a few minutes?"

"For you? Always."

Dee felt sick as she looked at Billy, as she noticed the affection in his eyes, his joy at having some time to spend with her. She hoped he couldn't see through her as easily. Dee walked slowly through the familiar corridors of _Galactica_, finally opening a service hatch and leading Billy into a maintenance tube.

"So what's up?"

"We need to talk," she said. She saw the look on Billy's face, the curious, expectant gaze that was confirmation that he'd never been dumped before. _If he had, then he'd know what was coming as soon as he heard me say those words in that tone._ She sighed lightly, wishing that Billy wasn't such a nice guy, that she didn't still love him to death. _As a friend,_ she reminded herself. _He's smart, he's good-looking, he's a good guy… and he just isn't my type._ She cursed herself again for having taken so long to admit the truth to herself, reminding herself of the excuses she'd created in her own mind. _I was just so emotional over the cylon attack that I needed someone, and Billy was there. I genuinely care, but just not in that way. I would never be sad with Billy, but I'd also never really feel that kind of thrill that I want… that I get with Lee._ All of these thoughts raced through her head, and she forced herself to label them for what they were – excuses. _He's a good guy, and I really do care. He deserves better than what I'm doing to him. But I can't force this relationship to work, and I know better than to try._

"So?" Billy prompted.

"I can't do this anymore," Dee said.

"Huh?"

"Us," Dee clarified. "I can't do this. I can't be with you like that anymore."

Billy just stared at her, a stunned expression falling over his face as he struggled to process her words. "I, umm…"

"I'm really sorry," Dee apologized, feeling tears well up in her eyes when Billy's mind obviously registered what she was saying. His jaw dropped, almost imperceptibly, and there was a look of pure shock that eclipsed anything she'd ever seen before. _Which is saying a lot, since I watched countless people process the fact that the Colonies had been wiped out._

"Why?"

One simple word, and Dee was swept up in a maelstrom of confusion. She could, of course, answer with the simple cliché of, 'It's not you, it's me,' or she might offer some kind of vague, half-ass excuse. She could tell Billy about Lee, using him as a convenient pretext that she knew would at least give Billy the comfort of knowing that he'd been betrayed by the woman he'd hoped to marry, and that he was certainly not the bad guy in the situation. _But the truth is so much more complex than any simple answer could explain,_ Dee knew. _The truth is that I just don't feel we work. At least not like that. And how can I explain that without making him feel that he's somehow responsible, which totally isn't the case?_

"Look, Billy," she said hesitantly, knowing she'd let the silence drag on too long and that it was time to say something, though she still had no idea what that something should be. "I…" She looked pleadingly at Billy, wishing he would give her a word, a phrase, even an expression that might inspire her with something to say. But he stood there silently, countless hours around politicians having schooled him in the art of interrogation through silence. He would give her all the time she needed to say what was on her mind, and he had no intention of helping her along.

Dee had no idea how long she stood there, lost in a nightmare she'd never wanted to live, trying to get back on track toward the conversation she'd planned. Finally, Billy turned to leave, and Dee found her voice. "Wait!" she practically shouted, grabbing his elbow and turning him back to face her. "I didn't mean for this to happen," she told him.

"I never said you did."

Something in Billy's expression reminded Dee of a kicked puppy, which led to her realization that she was the one who'd done the kicking. "I'm not saying I don't care about you."

"Okay." He still looked more stunned than anything, but there was a hint of sorrow and anger creeping into his eyes.

"I just… I…"

"Did you ask for a transfer to _Pegasus_ to get away from me?" Billy asked.

"I never asked for a transfer," Dee replied, hoping she didn't actually sound as defensive as she thought she did. _Does he know about me and Lee? Has he heard anything?_ "I was transferred after Commander Adama requested me. Starbuck, Doc Cottle, and I are going over."

"So that has nothing to do with this?"

"It might make it easier for us to move on," Dee admitted, "but no – I didn't request a transfer to get away from you, and I'm not breaking up with you because I'm getting transferred."

"Okay," Billy grumbled.

Dee almost started to feel better about the low-burning fire in Billy's eyes, the incredulous anger stoked by ego as he asked himself, 'Why does she think I'm not good enough?' She found herself surprisingly comfortable with the idea of taking the blame. _After all, this **is** all on me,_ she admitted. _Just like everything I've done behind Billy's back is all on me, too._

"I'll see you around," Billy said, turning again to walk away.

This time Dee let him go, and she remained behind for a long time, indulging in the misery borne of a dead relationship she herself had ended.

_To be continued……………………………_


	2. The Ties That Bind

Battlestar Galactica 2003 is a copyright of the Sci Fi Channel. Battlestar Galactica is a trademark and copyright of Universal Studios. Ron Moore re-imagined Glen A. Larson's original idea; but then again, most people who would be reading this already know that. My use is in no way intended to challenge or infringe upon any established copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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**II – The Ties That Bind**

_I wonder if she knows I'm here,_ Admiral Adama thought, staring at Sharon and her child through the transparent walls of her new cell on _Pegasus_. He could see the bond between mother and child, as clear as it was when he had watched Caroline with Lee and Zak.

_If someone came in here without knowing that Sharon is a cylon, or that her daughter is… whatever she is… I can't imagine they would ever guess that the two of them are anything different from any other mother and child that have ever existed under the stars._ It was a while before the admiral finally asked himself how long he had been there, staring, allowing himself to relax in the face of the scene before him.

_I know the risk they pose,_ he admitted to himself. _I know that Sharon's child is something the cylons worked hard to produce, and that her existence can't be good for us. I know that choosing Hera for a name can't be the best omen possible. I know that the cylons will never stop pursuing us as long a Hera is out here to claim. And despite it all, I can't even begin to see either of them the way Saul does. The way most people do._

"Open the door," Adama muttered, drawing a surprised stare from both guards.

"Sir?" one of them asked.

"I said open it," Adama ordered, displeased with having to repeat such a simple command.

Sharon was awake and turned over, her eyes poring over her unexpected visitors as soon as the key slid into the lock. She held Hera protectively against her breast, gently enough to allow the infant to keep sleeping, but tightly enough so that Adama couldn't help but get Sharon's message that she would not tolerate even the hint of threats against her child.

"I just want to talk," the admiral said once the door had closed behind him.

Sharon nodded, but remained silent.

"She always sleep this soundly?"

"Yes," Sharon answered warily. "Well, most of the time, anyway."

The admiral grinned slightly, thinking back to his time spent with his sons. _Well, what little time there was._ For the first time in years, he felt a wave of regret wash over him as he thought back on an empty slate that should have held countless memories of his sons' childhoods. "I know how that goes," he lied, deciding that he probably didn't. _Truth is, Caroline raised Lee and Zak. I just provided income._

"What do you want?" Sharon asked. Hera stirred slightly, and Sharon cooed almost imperceptibly as Adama watched the machine's maternal skills with unmistakable wonder in his eyes.

"I just want to talk," he repeated.

"Then talk."

Adama wished Sharon would make it easier, but as he considered her point of view he was forced to admit that she was being about as civil as one could expect. _She's trying to work out how to raise a family, and I'm keeping her in a holding cell._ He was just about to speak when he focused on an uncomfortable realization – _I think of her and Hera as a family. And I guess one would have to add Helo in there, too. But can they even be a family? Our priests have long spoken of the sanctity of the sacrament of marriage, of the relationship between a man and a woman who dedicate their lives to each other and, subsequently, to their children. Can a machine have that kind of relationship? Can the relationship between Helo and Sharon, or Sharon and Hera, be compared to what humans have?_

"You're not saying anything," Sharon pointed out. Her suspicion and subdued animosity had quickly given way to a tone that sounded almost friendly, leading the admiral to conclude that she had likely decided that she was in no immediate danger.

"How are you two doing?"

"Given the circumstances, we're doing just fine," Sharon said.

"I see," Adama said, not missing that she had qualified her answer with a statement about the circumstances. _And again, I can't blame her for being less than thrilled with the current accommodations._

"I'd like to see Helo more, if that's possible," Sharon added.

"I'll see what I can do," Adama said. "But he's still stationed on _Galactica_."

"You're the admiral," Sharon pointed out. "You don't have to see what you can do. You can just reassign him or not."

"I'll see what I can do," Adama repeated.

Sharon sighed heavily, but refrained from saying anything else that might anger her visitor. It was several more minutes before she spoke again. "So what can you tell me about the planet below?"

"Excuse me?"

"Helo told me we found a habitable planet, and that people are setting up a colony."

"It's a temporary situation," Adama told her, hoping as he spoke that his words were true.

"Why don't you let Hera and I go there?"

"Excuse me?"

"You could send us down to the surface," Sharon explained. "We'll get by on our own."

"You wouldn't last long," Adama assured her. "It's a rough environment."

"It seems preferable to living in this cage."

"I suppose it would," Adama admitted. _And that, of course, is the whole point of Zarek's ploy. The survivors all see the fleet as a big cage, and they'll risk anything just to be free of it._

"You would never see me or Hera again."

"And what about Helo?" Adama asked.

"Huh?"

"He seems to think of himself as part of your family," Adama pointed out. Now that he spoke the word out loud, family seemed like the perfect description for Sharon, Hera, and Helo. _What exactly is a family?_ the admiral asked himself. _It's two people who devote themselves to each other. And if those people have children, those children combine the natures of both parents within themselves. Under that definition, is there any man who's risked more, who's shown more devotion, for a woman than Helo has? Is there any child that more literally combines its two parents' natures within itself?_

"I…" Sharon's voice trailed off quickly as she clearly searched for a response she thought appropriate.

"I'll see what I can do about Helo," Adama said, turning toward the door, not even flinching at the thought of turning his back on Sharon. _A cylon that looked just like her – no a cylon that **was** her – tried to kill me. And here I am having heart-to-heart talks with her, figuring out how I can transfer Helo over here to be with her._ He wondered at his reaction, at his behavior, and only shook his head in mild exasperation.

_They're family,_ he reminded himself. _And there's no greater tie than that, no lengths we wouldn't go to in order to protect those in our families. It seems wrong to keep Helo away from Sharon and his daughter._ The image of Sharon holding her daughter had demonstrated that in the ties of family, perhaps the cylons and humans might share some common ground, and Adama knew he would end up spending countless hours wrestling with that uncomfortable reality.

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"Bill," Colonel Tigh said as soon as he opened his door, finding Adama waiting outside. A moment later he seemed to notice the two marines flanking the admiral. "What's going on?"

"Mind if I come in?"

"Not at all," Tigh said, stepping aside. The admiral walked past, while the marines waited outside, one on each side of the door.

"We need to talk," Adama muttered evenly, doing his best to play his cards close to his chest. _So far, so good,_ he decided. _I think he's genuinely surprised… he has no idea why we're here._

"About Zarek," Tigh guessed.

"No," the admiral replied. He saw a look of realization in his XO's eyes – the colonel knew that something bad had happened, something he didn't know yet. "Why don't you sit down?"

"Is it that bad?" Tigh asked, collapsing wearily in a beaten-up old leather chair that had followed him from one ship to the next, tagging along on Tigh's meandering, decades-long career in the Colonial fleet.

"Can I get you a drink?" Adama offered, walking over to Tigh's fully-stocked bar.

"Just tell me what's going on," Tigh said, clearly anxious now.

"It's Ellen," Adama explained. "We found her in one of the maintenance tubes adjacent to the starboard flight pod."

"Something happened to her?" Tigh asked, quickly rising to his feet. "Where is she?"

"Saul," Adama said. He didn't need to say anything else – he saw the light of understanding through his old friend's sudden grief – but he felt he owed it to Saul to say the rest, to speak the words that the colonel knew were coming. "I'm sorry. She's dead."

Tigh stood there for several moments, making a faint croaking sound that Adama thought was an attempt at words. It seemed like an eternity before Tigh asked the inevitable question. "What happened?"

"We're not sure," the admiral admitted. "Sergeant Hadrian is conducting an investigation."

"An investigation?" Tigh asked. Something darkened behind his eyes, and Adama knew his old friend had already realized several things: first, they suspected Ellen was murdered; second, he was likely being informally interviewed as a suspect; and third, he had to start sobering up and getting his shit together if he hoped to beat the authorities to his wife's killer.

"It wasn't natural causes," Adama explained needlessly. "And there's no clear explanation for how it could have been an accident."

"You're saying someone killed her."

Adama nodded, knowing it was pointless to lie when his friend had already figured out much of the story through simple deduction. "It looks that way," the admiral said. "We don't know who did it, and we're not sure why."

"Uh-huh," Tigh grunted.

_He suspects something,_ Adama decided. _He either knows or suspects that Ellen was doing something that could have led to this._ "Is there anything you'd like to share?"

"No," Tigh answered gruffly. "I need some time alone."

"Of course," Adama said, already moving toward the door. _Just what I need right now… We're stuck in this situation, and now my XO is going to be more concerned with avenging Ellen than he'll be with Zarek._ Then a new thought occurred to the admiral. _Unless the two of them are somehow related. In which case everything will be that much worse._

"Sergeant Hadrian will be by in a little while," Adama said, stopping in mid-stride, turning to settle his eyes on Tigh one last time, hoping to find some clue as to what his friend might be thinking. "She'll have some questions."

"Of course," Tigh muttered. "I'll be waiting."

-------------------------------------------------

"Explain yourself," Lee ordered curtly.

"Lee, I--"

"_Commander_," he corrected without missing a beat, furious, disappointed, and concerned.

"I'm sorry, Commander," Starbuck said, rising from the cot and giving a picture-perfect salute that Lee would have sworn was genuine.

"Explain yourself," Lee repeated, more calmly this time. He looked Starbuck over, focusing on her black eye and only after several moments realizing that he didn't even blink at the fact that his view of her was patterned by the bars of her holding cell. _Not that I've never had this view of her,_ he reminded himself. _Though it's been a while._

"Sir, I…" Starbuck's voice trailed off, and she diverted her gaze to the floor.

"I'd be lying if I said I never thought you over-indulged from time to time," Lee said, "but I'm disappointed, Captain."

That hurt Starbuck worse than any ass-chewing Tigh had ever visited upon her, hit her harder than any punch she'd absorbed in her favorite Caprican dive bars. "I…" Starbuck almost literally bit her tongue, deciding that there was nothing she could say to make her situation any better. She'd been on the wrong side of a set of bars often enough to know when it was advisable just to accept the lecture – and punishment – she fully deserved.

"You're the CAG," Lee reminded her.

Starbuck was surprised to realize that she was relieved at his statement that her latest indiscretion wasn't going to cost her a position she hadn't even wanted in the first place.

"You're supposed to set an example, Captain."

"Yes sir," Starbuck agreed.

"You're _not_ supposed to get so drunk that you can hardly stand," Lee said, his words clipped, his tone scathing. "And if, in the unfortunate event that you do get that blasted, you're _not_ supposed to go anywhere near the flight deck. And if you _do_ find yourself on the flight deck, you damn well better not go near a Viper. And if the gods themselves conspire against you to place you in such a position, the decision to sucker-punch the deck chief, fight off one of his crew, and then launch in the Viper – in that inebriated condition and without authorization – the least you'd deserve is to lose your wings and never fly again, to say nothing of facing a full court martial and possibly some hard prison time."

"Yes, sir," Starbuck agreed.

"And so help me, Kara, I want to ground you for this."

Starbuck almost gasped at his words. She had never, in her entire life, heard Lee sound like this. She wished that he would just hit her and call them even, maybe just break a couple of her fingers and stare angrily, daring her to release so much as a whimper; but he just kept talking, his words cutting, slicing, tearing at her like no physical punishment ever could.

"Of all the things you've ever done… of all the things I ever dreamed – and feared – you might ever do, I never… This just blows my mind."

"Yes, sir."

"And stop playing the frakking role of a parrot," Lee snapped. "Don't you have anything else to say besides 'Yes sir'?"

"I'm sorry," Starbuck said instantly. "I'm so sorry, Lee."

He shot her a reproachful stare that warned her not to address him by his first name, though he also somehow seemed to convey gratitude that she was apologizing as a friend as much as she was a junior officer overburdened with a heap of unwanted responsibility.

"If you ever--"

"I won't," Starbuck promised.

"I know you say that now," Lee replied. "You might even have every intention of being the perfect pilot. You'll walk out of this brig, march straight to your locker, pull out your idols, and swear to every god you can think of that you'll never, ever do this again. And you'll probably keep that vow, too. But I can't stand here and tell you I don't expect you to come up with something completely different but just as hare-brained a week from now."

"That's not fair," Starbuck snapped.

"Excuse me?" Lee said. The small hint of friendly compassion that had been in his eyes was gone in an instant, and he was once again wearing the face of 'Commander Lee Adama, Bad-Ass of the Universe.' It was a look he was still trying to master, though Starbuck got his message loud and clear.

"I'm sorry, sir," Starbuck said, her head hanging low, pressed against the cold bars. "What I did is inexcusable."

"Yes, it is. If we weren't in the position we're in, you'd never fly again," Lee assured her. "But strangely enough, you lucked out by having the world end. So you're free to go."

"Really?"

"Yes, Captain. Though by 'free to go,' I mean that you're free to get off my ship as soon as possible – so congratulations, you got yourself that transfer you wanted so badly – and that you're to proceed directly to _Galactica_ for a briefing with the admiral, Tigh, and Rutger."

"He's decided to go ahead with an assault, hasn't he?" Starbuck asked.

"Just follow your orders," Lee told her, turning and walking away, gesturing for the guard to release Starbuck from her cell. Though by the time she was out, Lee was long gone.

_To be continued……………………………_


	3. The Powers That Be

Battlestar Galactica 2003 is a copyright of the Sci Fi Channel. Battlestar Galactica is a trademark and copyright of Universal Studios. Ron Moore re-imagined Glen A. Larson's original idea; but then again, most people who would be reading this already know that. My use is in no way intended to challenge or infringe upon any established copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

………………………………………………………

**III – The Powers That Be**

"Let's keep this short," Admiral Adama said as he sat down at the head of the table, Tigh to his right, Lee to his left, with Kara and Rutger rounding out the group.

"How short?" Tigh asked. "Because if you want, we can sum this up by guaranteeing that if Zarek gives us any kind of significant resistance, this is going to get very bloody, very fast."

"Though we're reasonably certain we can get to Colonial One without any problems," Kara cut in.

"Let's start there," the admiral said, steepling his fingers on the table, his eyes poring over the reports spread out in front of him. "What's the plan?"

"The Colonel and Major Rutger have decided that three Raptors is the ideal number for the strike team they want to bring – I'll let them explain that – and we won't need more than five or six Vipers to cover them," Kara explained. "Fact is, getting there is the easy part. There are four light cannons we installed on Colonial One after that cylon party we had to deal with on _Galactica_; after all, the best way to stop them from boarding to assassinate the president is to destroy any ships that are trying to breach the hull. But we never got around to installing anything beyond a basic targeting system – all of our best computer support specialists were busy keeping our ancient Vipers in the sky. Then, after we got _Pegasus_, we've had everyone getting her put back together and building new Vipers."

"Finally some good news comes out of our labor shortage," Adama grumbled sarcastically.

Kara thought the comment out of character, and decided that the constant struggle against dwindling resources was finally starting to frustrate the admiral. "Anyway, Sir, when we installed the cannons, we made certain the gun points were heavily armored, to make certain that they didn't become vulnerable spots on the president's ship," Starbuck continued. "So as long as our pilots are careful, we can feel safe about firing on the cannons without causing widespread damage that could cripple or destroy the target. But I'd rather not have to worry about that, because once you start shooting at pressurized ships, unpredictable things can happen. That's why it's good that they probably won't get the cannons working in the first place."

"Meaning?" the admiral asked.

"While the targeting and firing control systems they have aren't all that great, they have one undeniable virtue," Starbuck said. "They're old Minotaur Sixes, which is what the government made available to private freighters near the end of the First Cylon War. We actually found a bunch of them sitting in the cargo hold, part of the museum they were planning. Since they were made for civilians, they aren't advanced, but they had a very good security lockout that helped make them safer for civilians.

With all of the chaos following President Roslin's death, the fallout from the Trojan Flu, the constant political pressure Baltar had been under, and the attack on LV-426, it seems no one ever bothered to make sure they had the codes to bring the cannons online."

"Are you telling me that Colonial One has been running for months now without an operational defense system?" Tigh asked incredulously.

"Seems that way," Starbuck admitted. "President Roslin trusted only one person with those codes, and he happens to be working down on our flight deck, safe from any influence Zarek might try to exert."

"Billy," Adama said with a nod.

"Without those codes, they not only can't target the cannons, but they can't move them very easily, because there's no power to the turrets," Starbuck said. "They'll need a team of at least three men to operate the things manually, with one controlling firing – aiming by sight alone – while the other two struggle to push and pull the cannon back and forth in the appropriate direction, all while trying not to get burned on the gun barrels."

"Which is why getting there should be easy," Tigh said.

"And once you get there?" Adama asked.

"Like I said before, if they resist, it'll get bloody," Tigh said with a shrug. "None of us sees any way around it. We finally decided on three teams of ten marines, each boarding at one of three separate insertion points and operating independently. We can't be sure of the layout, any booby traps, or the number and location of security forces on board the ship. But we figure if we at least spread out, we should be able to take advantage of our superior firepower. They can't stop all of us."

"I hope not," Adama said. "Commander?"

"I don't like it," Lee admitted. "We can be sure Zarek has been busy over there, preparing for us in case we show up on his doorstep. I think we need more people, but even the thirty we have includes a couple of guys who've never seen combat. If we used some of the marines on _Galactica_--"

"No," Adama said emphatically. "The people on _Galactica_ might know people on Colonial One. They may have shared drinks on _Cloud Nine_, or traded secrets over a poker game while on a security detail between ships. The marines on _Pegasus_ have no ties to Zarek or anyone on his ship – it'll make this easier. Besides, we're not mixing crews any more than we have to until this situation is cleared up. We can be sure that anything that happens on your ship stays here, and keeping Zarek in the dark as much as possible is in our best interest. We'll make due with _Pegasus's_ marines, even if it means limiting our numbers."

"Yes, Sir," Lee said, his tone letting Starbuck know that he didn't agree with the admiral's assessment of the situation, but that he'd play the role of a battlestar commander well and hold his tongue until after the briefing.

"Organize your teams," Adama ordered. "But keep the details quiet until you're actually loading into the Raptors. Until then, tell the troops to get ready for a training exercise with some of _Galactica's_ marines."

-------------------------------------------------

"The _Starlight Carousel_ is on board with our plans," Marshall Bagot said with a satisfied grin. He'd traveled to the aging freighter almost twenty-four hours earlier and spent virtually all of his time in a battle of wills with the ship's captain, Samuel Samson, an old spacer whose hide had been saved countless times by Colonial military ships responding to distress signals in deep space. Samson had been reluctant to give Zarek's faction assurances of support against any attempt Adama may make at a military solution, but everyone in the room knew that while Samson might be slow to agree to anything, he was also the type who'd rather die than go back on his word.

"And can we expect him to use his support to sway some of his friends?" Zarek asked.

"He said he would make a few calls," Bagot shrugged, "but I got the distinct impression he was planning on doing little more than letting people know where he stands. He's not going to start campaigning for us, if that's what you're thinking. He said this is the kind of thing a man has to decide for himself, and he won't offend his friends by trying to manipulate them."

"Man should have joined the military," Zarek groused. "Sounds like he and Adama would have been fast friends." That gained a chuckle from many of the men in the room, which only made Zarek frown. _That wasn't meant to be humorous; they don't take Adama seriously enough. They remember him backing down the last time there was a division in the fleet, and they expect the same thing again. What they don't understand is that his actions last time had more to do with Roslin than with his lack of a spine. He's going to give us a fight, sooner or later._

"Walt, what do you have?" Zarek asked, turning to his chief of security.

Matton rolled his shoulders slightly, puffing himself up to appear as large as possible in front of the influential men in the room. "We've added blast doors at three points of the main passage in the ship," he explained. "That'll help slow down any intruders. We also scrounged enough weapons and ammunition to arm a dozen volunteers to support our security team. My only concern is the defensive cannons Adama installed when Roslin was still here."

"You won't have to worry about those," Zarek said with a sideways glance at Deaq. He'd been around a lot of people with criminal histories before, but no one with the wide-ranging experience that Deaq had developed in the slums of Karkura, on Sagitarron. _A hacker and a car thief… he knew just what he needed to crack into that ancient system._

"But if Baltar keeps insisting he doesn't have the codes," Matton responded, "we won't be able to--"

"Let me worry about that," Zarek said.

"Fine," Matton relented with a tired sigh.

"I have other people working on that problem, Walt. I just need you to worry about personnel."

"Of course, Mr. President."

"And while I trust your judgment, I'm also going to have you speak with Deacon after our meeting," Zarek added. "He'll let you know about some other things I've been thinking."

"Yes, Mr. President."

_Perfect,_ Zarek decided. _The guns will be operational, which I'm sure will surprise Adama's people, and once Deaq is done with Matton, I can rest assured that our fresh volunteers will be the first to face Adama's marines. They'll be cut down, providing the bloodbath we need to help gain even more public support against the military. It's all about perceptions, and if Adama comes in here, he'll be perceived as a violent, dangerous egomaniac._

-------------------------------------------------

"Good luck," Lee said, returning to the business of running his own ship.

"To all of us," the admiral agreed, signaling Specialist Annar to switch the wireless frequency away from _Pegasus_ and over to Tigh's Raptor. "It looks like they're going to limit any resistance to the inside of the ship, Colonel," he told his XO, looking at the clear space on the tactical screen.

"Agreed," Tigh responded gruffly. "I guess three armed Raptors and a half-dozen Mark VII Vipers was enough to convince them to not to be stupid."

_There's still plenty of time for that,_ Adama reminded himself; and though he was certain Tigh was thinking much the same thing, he left his concerns unvoiced.

"The _Starlight Carousel_ has changed course," Gaeta reported. "It's firing up its engines and is moving to interdict the strike team."

"Hell," Adama muttered. "Colonel, ignore what I just told you about resistance being limited to the inside of the ship."

"I see her," Tigh answered. "Starbuck's already on her way over."

"The ship is unarmed," Adama added. "Unless she rams you, she shouldn't be a problem. Just fly around her."

"Understood," Tigh replied. Adama waited as Tigh passed on the order to Starbuck, who relayed it to all of her pilots.

……………………………………

"What the hell is he thinking?" Lee asked his XO, Captain Hawks, a cranky officer who'd been three days from his release from the military when the cylons attacked.

Hawks had spent eight years in the service, denying himself every possible perk and luxury, staying out on extended tours so that he wouldn't have to spend money on rent, a car, food, or anything else. After close to a decade of that Spartan lifestyle, he'd finally set aside enough money to resign his commission and buy a small sail tour company in the Pagos Islands, on Aerelon. Lee often thought Hawks would have been far happier had the cylons waited an extra week before the attack, so that he could have at least enjoyed the fruit of his labors for a couple of days before being vaporized.

"The ship's unarmed," Hawks grumbled irritably, pointing out the obvious. "And she's too slow to manage ramming any of our ships unless one of our pilots falls asleep at the stick."

"Commander?" Dee said.

"Yes?" Lee replied, smiling at the formality in Dee's tone. He found he vastly preferred the way she spoke to him in his quarters.

"The _Starlight Carousel_ is under the command of a man named Samuel Samson," Dee explained. "I've spoken with him a few times; he's been in interstellar shipping for over thirty years, and he's not the kind of guy to do something without thinking it through first."

"Understood," Lee said. "Get me the admiral."

Dee hailed the _Galactica_, and moments later nodded to Lee.

"Admiral, they're up to something," Lee said immediately. Even as he spoke, he saw two more ships, the _Sunburst_ and the _Paris_, moving to intercept the strike force. _Two more big, slow freighters that can't hope to stop us… or even slow us down._ "We should call the team back."

"It could be a bluff," Adama said.

"When was the last time Zarek bluffed?" Lee asked. "Everything he does has a purpose, Admiral. Even if the purpose is to get himself martyred, whether on board a prison ship or Colonial One. If he can't keep power, he'll do whatever he can to make sure you can't, either."

……………………………………

"Three ships now," Tigh reported to Galactica. "We can't stay in formation, Admiral."

"Break up and get on board Colonial One," Adama ordered.

"Aye," Tigh grunted. "All ships, break formation and stay away from those freighters. We don't want any accidents out here – our only concern is getting Zarek off his ship."

"Aye," Starbuck replied over the wireless. Tigh looked at the tactical screen and watched the Vipers all fly off in separate directions before quickly returning on course to Colonial One, supporting the Raptors from a distance. Then there was a bright flash, and one of the icons on the tactical screen disappeared.

"What the frak?" Tigh cursed, seeing his Raptors were now supported by only four Vipers and one rapidly dissipating cloud of debris.

"We're taking fire," Starbuck reported. The Vipers were all flying evasive maneuvers as bullets streaked through space, but Starbuck's voice was eerily calm. "It's not just Colonial One, either – each of the freighters is also firing on us."

"Frak," Tigh cursed. _We may be able to fire on Colonial One's cannons without destroying the ship, but we can't be sure they took the same precautions with those freighters._ He quickly punched up the specs on the closest ship – the _Starlight Carousel_ – and saw that it carried over 300 civilians. _We can't fire on that ship without knowing what we're getting into. The last thing we need is another massacre that Zarek can pin on us._

"Are we cleared to return fire?" Starbuck asked.

"Negative," Tigh barked. Then he turned to Racetrack, and said, "Get us out of here." He was immediately pressed back in his seat as she slammed on the thrusters, just as one of the Raptors reported it'd been hit and was having trouble maneuvering.

"You have to get clear on your own," the admiral said over the wireless, apparently agreeing with Tigh's decision for an immediate withdrawal. "Those damn freighters are sitting right in the middle of my firing solution, so I can't risk give you any cover fire."

"They're blocking us, too," Lee added from _Pegasus_.

"Goddamn setup," Tigh cursed.

……………………………………

"Launch our alert fighters," Lee ordered, "but keep them at close range. I don't want to get them mixed up in that fiasco over there."

"Aye," Hawks responded.

"I frakking knew it," Lee said under his breath, so that only his XO could hear. "I knew it wasn't going to be that easy."

"They're firing wildly," Hawks commented. The strike team's ships were moving away, and the defensive fire coming from Zarek's ships was missing wider with every passing moment. "They may have figured out how to get the cannons up and running, but they're not experienced Colonial gunners."

"So we at least got lucky on something," Lee responded. _For what that's worth._

"Commander, new contact!" Lieutenant Barters reported. He was the new tactical officer, a former LSO who was one of the only surviving members of _Pegasus's_ crew ever to have spent any time in C.I.C. His inexperience was unmistakable in his voice, high-pitched and excited. "It just jumped in out of nowhere, Sir, approximately fifteen-hundred kilometers behind the fleet. Looks like it's holding position."

"What is it?" Lee asked. The icon had appeared on the tactical screen, but the ship was apparently running without an active transponder, as no ID came up next to the blip.

"It's an old Colonial shuttle," Barters answered. "Hermes Class… looks like only one of its sub-light engines is working."

"They're hailing," Dee interrupted.

"Put it through to my sta…" Lee's voice trailed off when he saw the stunned expression on Dee's face. "What is it?"

"Gods…" Dee muttered, a pen slipping from the grasp of numb fingers. "Lee… Commander… you're not gonna believe this."

_To be continued……………………………_


	4. Homecoming

Battlestar Galactica 2003 is a copyright of the Sci Fi Channel. Battlestar Galactica is a trademark and copyright of Universal Studios. Ron Moore re-imagined Glen A. Larson's original idea; but then again, most people who would be reading this already know that. My use is in no way intended to challenge or infringe upon any established copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

………………………………………………………

**IV – Homecoming**

"Brother Cavill," Roslin said evenly, staring into the weathered face of the man seated across from her.

"President Roslin," he returned.

"Please don't refer to me as 'President,' " she said awkwardly.

"It's only a title," he pointed out, "and one that all presidents enjoy, whether during or after their time in office. Why does it bother you to have someone refer to you as President?"

"Because I--" Roslin's voice cracked, and she stared at Cavill, half-hoping he could somehow read her thoughts, freeing her of the burden of speaking the words she was terrified to say.

"Because you don't think you're the president," Cavill finished for her.

"Yes," she admitted. She stopped momentarily to wonder at the fact that she was seeking guidance from the clergy; it was not something she would have done before the cylon attack. _But the end of the world tends to change perspective…_

"And this isn't about how you fell into the office by virtue of being the only cabinet-level official who survived the cylon assault, is it?" Cavill asked, his eyes boring into hers, demanding truth.

"No."

"You're troubled by what happened on the Chiron medical station," Cavill said. "Everyone heard the stories – you died. Colonel Tigh saw you gunned down with his own eyes. Captain Thrace claimed there was no way you could have escaped the explosion."

"Obviously, I didn't die," Roslin countered. The same old thought teased at the edges of her thoughts, despite her efforts to hold it at bay.

"But you're not sure," Cavill said. "Tigh and Thrace are soldiers, veterans of countless battles, and who's to say they're wrong?"

"I'm sitting right here," Roslin pointed out. "I'm not dead."

"True, you're not dead," Cavill allowed, "but does it follow that you didn't die?"

"I don't know what you're--"

"Yes, you do," he interrupted. "How could you be here after having died?" he asked rhetorically. "I'll tell you – you could be a cylon. And that's the thought that's plaguing you."

Roslin shuddered at the words and noted after several moments of silence that her hands were trembling, her grandmother's old ring clattering against the scratched metal surface of the table. "I… I could be a cylon," Roslin admitted.

"You're not a cylon," Cavill stated emphatically, with the confident, unquestioning certainty that only a priest could ever muster.

"How do you know?" Roslin challenged.

"Because I'm a cylon, and I haven't seen you at the secret cylon meetings," Cavill said mockingly.

"This isn't a joke," Roslin said. "This is serious. I could be a cylon. And how would I know? I look at the one we have in the brig – Sharon Valerii – and it's easy for me to see her for what she is. But when she looks in the mirror, I honestly believe that she sees a human face, that she thinks human thoughts and remembers human family, whether or not they ever existed."

"And how do you think obsessing about this is going to help matters?"

"It won't," Roslin admitted. "I had a cousin who lived on Picon, who worked with seriously mentally ill patients. At family gatherings, she used to explain how their perceptions were so warped that they had no idea that they were crazy. They thought the voices in their heads were real, that when they lay awake at night, listening to people arguing, that those people must have been outside their window, and not just in their minds. And that's how Sharon Valerii is – she thinks everything in her head is real."

"And you're saying she's crazy."

"No," Roslin snapped. "I don't know."

"I've spoken with her," Cavill revealed, "and she seems reasonable, coherent. She may believe that she's human, but that doesn't make her crazy. Then again, that's not your point, is it?"

"No."

"You're afraid of what your mind is telling you," Cavill said. "You have doubts. You're afraid that, like the mentally ill, and like Sharon Valerii, you can't even trust your own mind, your own memories."

"Yes," Roslin admitted.

"And this shouldn't bother you."

"How can you say that?" Roslin asked incredulously. "I was shot. The station I was on was destroyed, and from what Tigh and Captain Thrace told me, there was no indication that either Hobber or I escaped before we would have been incinerated."

"And your point is?"

"My point is that there's only one conclusion."

"That you're a cylon," Cavill muttered. He stared at Roslin, as if he, too, were trying to think of another possible explanation for her situation. But then his mind seemed to go off on a tangent when he asked, "And what does any of this have to do with me?"

"Excuse me?"

"If you have these concerns, why do you come to me?" he asked. "Why not go to the doctors and have them run tests? Why not go to the ship's counselor and talk through your concerns? Why not talk to other officers, people who might be able to come up with a plausible explanation for not only how you got off Chiron, but how you did so without our people detecting you?"

"I just… I…"

"You want to hear a holy man declare that in his eyes – and in the eyes of the gods – that you're not a cylon," he explained for her. "I'm sorry, but it doesn't work that way."

"Excuse me?"

"People everywhere pray to the gods, but the gods don't answer," he said. "And those who say they do are likely to have ended up under the care of your cousin on Picon. The fact is that we're here alone – that's how the gods set it up."

"What kind of priest are you?" Roslin asked.

"I've just watched the Colonies be destroyed, men, women, and children vaporized in bombs or slowly poisoned by nuclear radiation, all the while crying out for salvation from the gods. I didn't see the gods stay the cylons' hands. If they didn't get involved then, I find it hard to believe that they'd be interested in coming down from on high to ease your fears. Quite honestly, I don't think you're that important."

"I see," Roslin said, taking a mental step back, trying to decide what to make of the priest in front of her. _I've heard some members of the clergy speak of whacking their flocks with the hard rod of truth, but he's taking it to excess._

"You have some issues you have to deal with," Cavill allowed with an indulgent sigh. "I can understand you have fears and doubts, none of which can be eased since the one man in the fleet qualified to test you to see if you're a cylon is… indisposed at the moment."

"I was already tested," Roslin pointed out.

"And if you had any faith in that result, if the phrase 'false negative' wasn't bouncing around in your head, you wouldn't feel any need to speak with me," Cavill returned. "So you have some decisions to make."

"Meaning?"

"You can either decide to believe that you're human, or you can conduct a very simple test to see if you're a cylon."

"A test?" Roslin asked. "What kind of test?"

"You can use some of your influence to get your hand on a sidearm from one of the crewmen," Cavill explained. "Then you can go somewhere and blow your head off. If you wake up somewhere else, without a gaping hole in your skull, then you're a cylon. And if you don't…"

Roslin simply stared at the man, unable to fathom his reasons for his attitude, his blunt demeanor, his almost sarcastic tone. _But I can't say that the suggestion is without merit,_ she decided. _That **would** clear up the issue rather quickly. But that doesn't mean it's an option._ "I can't shoot myself," she muttered.

"Then accept you're human," Cavill shrugged, "and go about finding answers."

"Excuse me?"

"The scientist from the medical station – Doctor Hobber – returned you to the fleet in that old shuttle," Cavill said. "From what I've heard, he was also supposed to have been killed in the cylon raid that day. But here you both are. How much, exactly, have you asked about that day?"

"I…" Roslin's voice cracked when she realized there was nothing she could add to the sentence.

"You never asked?"

"I did," Roslin responded. _But he never answered. And I never pressed the issue. Why didn't I press the issue?_

"Perhaps instead of a priest, you should go speak with your friend, the doctor," Cavill suggested.

-------------------------------------------------

"This may be hard for you to accept, but there are larger problems than what we have between us right now," Adama said, practically growling into the wireless.

"Perhaps," Zarek allowed. "But surely you understand my situation."

"You're playing politics when the life of every man, woman, and child in this fleet may be at stake," Adama said, "and don't think for a second that I'll quietly stand by and let that happen."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I don't have to be an experienced politician to score points off this," the admiral said. For the first time in several minutes, his tone was calm, thoughtful. Starbuck thought it was absolutely terrifying in its banality, given the circumstances. "Half the fleet is saying President Roslin just returned from the dead, all while the other half is screaming that she must be a cylon. You have in custody the one man who might be able to settle any concerns we have as to whether or not she is, in fact, a cylon."

"The stability of the fleet is at stake here," Zarek responded. "This is not the first time a rift has formed between civilians and the military. The civilian government provided for a legal, peaceful transition of power between me and Baltar. The truth is, there are many people who aren't happy with some of the decisions he made as president, as evidenced by the fact that he was removed from office. Leaving the safety of Colonial One might not be in his best interests."

"So your position is that you're holding him for his own safety," Adama responded. "So this has nothing to do with keeping a potential presidential candidate under wraps."

"Of course not," Zarek said smoothly. "But since you mention presidential candidates…"

"I don't exactly have access to the Quorum of Twelve," Adama said, "but we do have judge advocate officers on _Galactica_. They've analyzed the situation and, admitting there's no precedent, have argued that as she was not, in fact, dead, Laura Roslin is the rightful President. That is to say, her powers had only temporarily vested in Baltar, and that temporary vesting of powers was then ceded to you."

"Temporary," Zarek said, predictably seizing on that word.

"A strong legal case can be made for you, Baltar, or Roslin," Adama said. "You can try to play political games here, or you can face a few facts."

"Such as?"

"I have all of the Vipers, all of the heavy weapons, all of the trained military personnel, and the one presidential candidate whose power can be traced to the pre-existing Colonial government," Adama said. "Oh, and I guess we should throw in that thousands of people see her as a messianic figure who returned from the dead to save them." A satisfied smile spread on Adama's face, and Starbuck found it impossible not to follow suit.

_I never knew he had it in him,_ she thought, noting that every other officer within earshot in C.I.C. appeared as impressed as she was.

"That's an interesting way of viewing the situation," Zarek said. "A predictably military viewpoint, I might add."

"And continuing in that vein, let's add that thousands more feel you illegally usurped power from Baltar, a man whom many of them didn't even like in the first place," Adama added. "Add in all those who still see you as a murderous sociopath, and I can't see how you can honestly expect to hold power here."

"I'm building a colony," Zarek countered. "What do you or Roslin offer?"

He sounded confident, but Starbuck thought she heard a hint of desperation in his voice. _Or am I only imagining it?_ she asked herself.

"We offer a dose of reality," Adama said.

"You mean living on these tin cans, running from the cylons, suffering the occasional attacks that kill a few here, a few there, until we're inevitably hunted into extinction. That's not a life," Zarek said.

"You'd favor settling all of our people on an unfortified planet?" Adama asked incredulously. "The cylons made short work of the Colonial defenses when we were at the height of our power. How long do you think it would take them to vaporize this one rock?"

"They'd have to find us, first."

"They could have untold numbers of spies among us," Adama said.

"Like the one that you're allowing to live on _Pegasus_?" Zarek challenged. "If you think cylon spies are such a threat, then you should throw her out an airlock."

"She's a military asset."

"A military asset that's a synthetic human," Zarek said. "She was so skillfully made that we can't even tell which parts are cylon and which parts are human. For all we know, there could be some kind of homing beacon we can't detect. And it could bring them right to us."

"More reason not to stay in one place for too long," Adama said.

"More reason to destroy that thing," Zarek replied.

"Operating, of course, under the assumption that she's the only cylon in the fleet that poses that risk," Adama pointed out. "I think it's foolish to assume so, and I'm not going to destroy the one cylon who's demonstrated any willingness – whether complete or not, whether based on self-interest or not – to help us."

"This is getting us nowhere," Zarek snapped. "You want Baltar – you can't have him. You want me to step down – you can keep dreaming."

"Fine," Adama relented. "You do, of course, have some time to change your mind. We've shut down the white noise generator, so you're free to gather what support you can."

"Just as you're free to have your people work against me."

"Communication is a two-edged sword," Adama said. "And if you're certain of the righteousness of your cause, you should have no reason to complain that I've given you – and everyone else – the freedom to spread your opinion."

-------------------------------------------------

"Thanks for coming," Roslin said as she settled her eyes on Admiral Adama. She ignored the two marines that had escorted him, just as she'd ignored the two that had accompanied her, and the two that had already been standing outside the door, watching over Doctor Hobber.

"I don't have much time," Adama said. He searched Laura's eyes for some clue as to what she was thinking. There was a difference there, a confidence that he hadn't seen when she first returned on her battered old ship. When he saw her step off the shuttle, the first adjective that popped into his mind was 'haunted.' She seemed as uncertain as anyone else on the flight deck that morning. Now she seemed confident, refreshed. _Presidential,_ he thought, deciding on the perfect word to describe her.

"This'll be worth your time," Roslin assured him.

The admiral noted that she didn't give him any assurances that the meeting would be brief. _She expects me to be at her disposal. Once again, presidential._ "If I could ask what this is about?"

"You have some very reasonable questions," Roslin answered. "You want to know how I survived the attack on Chiron, how I'm apparently cured of my cancer, how I got back here, and where I've been. I have all those answers." She looked meaningfully at Doctor Hobber, who nodded almost imperceptibly.

"I see," Adama replied. _No, this won't be brief. But assuming her answers are satisfactory, this will most certainly be worth my time._

_To be continued……………………………_


	5. Hopes and Dreams, Plans and Schemes

Battlestar Galactica 2003 is a copyright of the Sci Fi Channel. Battlestar Galactica is a trademark and copyright of Universal Studios. Ron Moore re-imagined Glen A. Larson's original idea; but then again, most people who would be reading this already know that. My use is in no way intended to challenge or infringe upon any established copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

………………………………………………………

**V – Hopes and Dreams, Plans and Schemes**

Lee was surprised to catch himself tapping his fingers impatiently on the tabletop, waiting for his father to say something. A sideways glance let him know that Tigh was just as curious. All he knew was that he'd been called over from _Pegasus_ in the dead of night. He was willing to bet that the unscheduled meeting pertained to either Roslin or Zarek, but he had no clue as to which one, yet.

"Laura Roslin is not a cylon," the admiral said, immediately answering Lee's question.

"How do we know?" Tigh asked.

"I know," Adama assured them. "I have no doubt."

"How were we able to prove it?" Lee asked. "Without Dr. Baltar to run the machine, isn't there a chance the results--"

"We didn't use the cylon detector," Adama explained. "I had a talk with her."

"A talk?" Tigh asked. "That's it?"

"Because she was already cleared by the detector once," Lee said, thinking one step ahead of the conversation, "before she ever went to Chiron. So if she wasn't a cylon then, the only way she could be a cylon now is if the cylons made some kind of replica of her. You asked her things that only President Roslin would know."

"No," Adama said, nodding wearily. There was something in his expression that Lee had never seen before. He couldn't place it; indeed, he couldn't think of his father ever having looked like this in his life. _Not after Zak. Not after he and mom broke up. Not after the destruction of the Colonies. Not even when Sharon pulled her sidearm and shot him in the chest. Never._

"So how, exactly, do you know she's not a cylon?" Tigh asked.

"That doesn't matter," Adama said, making it clear he was not going to share that information. "All that matters is that we start straightening things out. Immediately."

"What did you have in mind?" Tigh asked.

"I need plans to remove Zarek," the admiral said.

"I don't think we should go in there," Lee responded. "There's a lot that could go wrong."

"I'm not saying we're going in," Adama assured the two of them. "The President is going to have questions; she'll want to know what our options are. And I have to be able to give her the answers she needs."

"Zarek already demonstrated that he's ready for us," Lee said. "She has to know that if we go in there, it'll--"

"She knows," Adama told them. "I've already had a long discussion with her about this. She knows we tried the careful way, and she was wondering what risks might be associated with a more aggressive approach."

"Sir?" Lee asked. This didn't sound like Laura Roslin at all.

"Let me make it plain," Adama replied with a sigh. "I want you two to sit down and come up with a plan that will secure Colonial One and put Tom Zarek in custody as quickly as possible."

"In custody?" Tigh asked. "You've got to be kidding me."

"That's the plan," the admiral said.

"And if the plan goes wrong?"

Lee found himself starting to feel sick. _First my father tells me that Roslin is considering using force against a hard target before we've exhausted diplomatic avenues. Then my father indicates he agrees with Roslin's approach, and all Tigh wants is a chance to kill Zarek, which I'll bet my command on having to do with Ellen. Everyone is going mad…_

"If the plan goes wrong, and if Zarek is inadvertently killed, we'll have to deal with it," Adama said.

"We'll have to deal with it?" Lee asked incredulously. _Why not just come right out and say that you want Zarek alive, but dead is just as good?_ Lee knew that his father and Tigh had served for so long that they shared an unspoken language, and while he didn't understand the particulars of that language, he realized that his father had just given tacit approval of any accidents that might result in Zarek's death.

"Anything else, Sir?' Tigh asked, ignoring Lee's outburst.

"No," the admiral said, also choosing not to acknowledge his son's surprise. "Get your planning done as quickly as possible, and then report back to me. We don't want to keep the President waiting."

-------------------------------------------------

"You look good," Baltar said when he opened his eyes to find Six sitting on the edge of his cot. "Have you done something with your hair?"

"I'm not going to tolerate your attitude this time," Six told him.

Baltar nodded, looking her over. Truth be told, he was surprised that she'd stayed away as long as she had, abandoning him to countless days alone in this makeshift holding cell on some unknown ship. In fact, she had stayed away so long, that in the end he found he was just as surprised she'd actually come back as he was that she'd stayed away in the first place.

"Fine, I'll be polite," Baltar assured her. He found he was unexpectedly willing to do whatever was necessary in order to hold a conversation with another human being, even if that human being was really a cylon and likely only a product of his own overactive, guilt-ridden imagination.

"We have some things we need to talk about."

"Of course," Baltar said, sitting up attentively.

"Laura Roslin has returned."

"The President?" Baltar asked, searching for a reaction from his visitor. But her expression betrayed nothing. "How?"

"Not everyone thinks of her as the president anymore," Six replied.

"I thought she was dead."

"So did a lot of other people," Six admitted.

"And you?" Baltar asked. "What did you think?"

"I can't say that I ever gave her presumed death any thought," Six shrugged casually.

_Too casually,_ Baltar decided. _She's making a show of appearing unconcerned. She doesn't understand how easily I can read her._ "She's not a cylon," Baltar said, guessing that was probably most people's primary concern. "At least, the Roslin who was here with us in the fleet before wasn't a cylon. Did the cylons make a duplicate of their own?"

"No," Six said. "Though I assume that most everyone fears we did. Without your endorsement of any tests, they won't feel comfortable declaring her to be human, no matter what your machine tells them."

"And Zarek isn't going to release me," Baltar said. It wasn't a question; his political career had been brief, but he'd learned a great deal. He knew that there was no way Zarek would just hand over a bargaining chip like Gaius Baltar.

"No, you'll be here for a while," Six agreed.

"Not that I'm questioning the will of god or anything," Baltar said cautiously, searching Six's eyes for any hint of the sudden anger she always displayed when confronted with what she labeled as his heresy, "but if Roslin is, in fact, still alive, doesn't that throw a huge wrench in Pythia's prophecies?"

"She's more than just still alive," Six answered. "The people are saying she's back from the dead."

"A detail that likely would have made its way into the Sacred Scrolls if it was something Pythia contemplated."

"Yes," Six agreed. "Which creates some complications. And some questions."

"Meaning what, exactly?" Baltar pressed. He knew that Six was had been considering something she found uncomfortable, and the only reason he could think of for her sudden reappearance was that she wanted to discuss her concerns with him. _Not something I would expect of a woman who was only the product of my imagination._

"Meaning…" She stood up and started pacing from one side of his small holding cell to the other, reminding Baltar of a caged animal. "There may be more going on here than you realize," Six finally said.

"I'm under guard in a holding cell," Baltar reminded her, trying to find the perfect combination of words to unlock her reluctance to share more about the situation. "I don't even know what ship I'm on, and the only visitor I've had in weeks may well be a hallucination. I think it's safe bet that there's more going on here than I realize."

"I'm not a hallucination," Six told him.

"I know," Baltar admitted. But as he looked at her, he wondered yet again what she was. _She **has** had knowledge of things before they happened. She's known about people and places she couldn't possibly have told me about if she were just my imagination. But her foresight hasn't been flawless, either. She's made guesses and assumptions, and she's been wrong. And surprised. Every time something happens unexpectedly, it rattles her. And this more than anything else so far._

"I've missed you," she said, approaching tentatively before grasping his chin in her hand, and pulling him in for a slow, tender kiss. "I'll be back soon."

Baltar opened his eyes and found that she had pulled her familiar old disappearing trick. _Yes, there's more going on here than I realize,_ Baltar told himself. _And it starts with her. She's not a figment of my imagination. And I never found any evidence of any cylon technology implanted anywhere in my body. But there's a possibility I never considered. What if she isn't a cylon at all? What if she's something else?_

-------------------------------------------------

"Captain Thrace," Laura Roslin said as Kara appeared in her doorway. It was certainly not the first time someone had taken Roslin unawares, but she still found herself marveling at how accustomed she'd grown to having all of her visitors announced and ushered into her presence.

"Ma'am," Starbuck answered formally, wondering if she was expected to use a more official honorific.

"I would invite you to sit, but this won't take long," Roslin told her.

"Yes, Ma'am." _What the hell did I do this time?_ Starbuck asked herself. _Or even worse, what's she gonna ask of me this time?_

"How are you adjusting to your new responsibilities?" Roslin asked.

"I'm getting by," Starbuck told her. She smiled thinly, and added, "I admit I'm feeling a little guilty for having given Lee as much trouble as I did when he was the CAG." She didn't know why she was acting so familiar with the woman who many claimed was the president, but she was willing to admit that if nothing else, it felt natural.

Roslin smiled broadly at Starbuck's levity, and gestured to the seat in front of her. "Why don't you sit down?" she offered.

Starbuck started to wonder if she'd just passed some type of test that earned her the right to make herself comfortable, to settle in for a conversation rather than a set of marching orders that Roslin may or not be empowered to hand down.

"I'd like you to do me a favor," Roslin said.

Starbuck was proud she didn't say anything out loud, but she knew her body language was likely conveying her anxiety. _The last time she asked me to do her a favor…_

"I know what you're probably thinking," Roslin said, "and this is nothing like that. As far as I know, I'm not going to ask you to violate any orders, whether those orders are specifically stated or simply understood."

"Yes, Ma'am," Starbuck said, appreciating that Roslin had apparently given her presentation some thought. _She's certainly saying all the right things so far._

"When you went back to Caprica for the Arrow of Apollo, you met some survivors."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"And after you returned to _Galactica_, you asked for permission to arrange a rescue party to go back and get our people out."

"Yes, Ma'am." Starbuck started taking comfort in her identity as an officer – it freed her from having to say anything more than a few canned phrases. _Sure, I'm stuck doing what others tell me, but it also spares me the embarrassment of trying to maintain an intelligent conversation with the President._

"I may have been more eloquent in my response at the time, but I essentially told you to forget it," Roslin said. "I'm sorry about that, by the way. I didn't realize at the time why you were so set on the mission."

"Ma'am?"

"A little bird told me about a certain pyramid player," Roslin explained. "I didn't know you were personally invested in the request."

"It doesn't matter," Starbuck said with a shrug.

"But it does," Roslin countered. "Because I'd like you to start putting together a few ideas for a return to Caprica."

"What?" Starbuck hoped her mouth wasn't hanging open the way Lee said it always did when he told her something she wasn't expecting.

"Nothing official," Roslin clarified. "I wouldn't want to get you in any trouble, and I'm sure you're being kept busy enough with your other duties that you couldn't get down into many details, anyway. But the admiral trusted you to help him plan the assault on the tylium mine, and with Commander Adama so busy on _Pegasus_…"

"I understand," Starbuck said. _She's smart enough not to go to the really seasoned officers, like Tigh or the Old Man, because they'd never waste their time planning an op that likely won't happen and that they don't agree with, anyway. But Lee and I… we're qualified to do the job, and we're young and stupid enough to believe in it._ "Out of curiosity, Ma'am, how many ships should I figure we'll be bringing?"

"All of them."

This time, Kara had no doubt her mouth was hanging open so wide, she was in danger of bumping her chin on the floor. "Ma'am?"

"Keep it quiet, if you would," Roslin asked. "For obvious reasons."

"Yes, Ma'am," Starbuck said. Roslin gave her a look that let her know she was dismissed, and she walked away in wonder, unable to believe what the once-and-possibly-future-president was considering.

-------------------------------------------------

"There's no need to rush," Lee insisted. "We can wait him out – there's no reason to go in there, guns blazing."

"I can't believe you still don't have the stomach for a stand-up fight," Tigh grumbled.

"Excuse me, _Colonel_?" Lee asked curtly.

Starbuck almost gasped when she realized that Lee had just imposed his rank on the Old Man's XO. Something about it seemed sinful, and while part of her wanted to avert her eyes in shame, the other part insisted that her gaze remain riveted on the scene before her. She couldn't believe that Roslin and Adama were allowing Lee and Tigh to go at it.

"Pulling a gun on me when we went to arrest President Roslin was one thing, but you're a commander now. Sir," Tigh said, making the word sound like one of the vilest curses ever uttered by human lips. "Your responsibilities are a little greater than when you were a Captain, playing at resolving power struggles."

"And your solution, as always, is to rush in, shoot anyone who opposes us, and what?" Lee asked. "Cobble together some type of functioning government from the survivors? It's no wonder you frakked everything up so badly when you had command."

Tigh's upper lip curled, his nostrils flared, but he held his tongue until he'd regained his composure. Starbuck was impressed; she doubted she would have had as much restraint, even in front of Roslin and the Old Man.

"Zarek's only strengthening his situation every day," Tigh finally said. "The longer we wait--"

"The longer we wait, the more he loses support," Lee interrupted. "A huge portion of our people weren't happy about him taking control in the first place. Now that President Roslin's back, he's been revealed as a usurper."

"Simple fact is this," Tigh responded. "He's building a colony down there. People are getting comfortable, they're building homes, they're shaking off the dust that started to cover everyone on these damned ships. And fine, maybe Zarek will ultimately lose power if we wait him out, but by that point we won't be able to get the people back off the surface, so he still will have won."

"Right," the admiral agreed, finally entering the conversation. "That's the bottom line. Zarek is currently in control, and he's using his influence to build the colony. We oppose the colony's existence, but we can't shut it down until we take him out."

"But building his colony is getting harder all the time," Lee reasoned. "Five more ships have joined up with us over the past three days; they're refusing to shuttle people or materials to the surface and have fallen back into formation around _Galactica_ and _Pegasus_."

"And at that rate, it'll be weeks before everyone deserts him," Tigh countered. "We don't have that much time to wait."

"We don't want the colony because staying in one place makes us vulnerable," Adama added. "Waiting out Zarek keeps us here just as much as building a colony does."

"We can't stay," Roslin said. "And we can't keep waiting. I'm sorry, Commander."

"So you're going to rush in and arrest the President?" Lee asked.

"He's not the President," Tigh countered.

"So you say," Lee responded. "And just because everyone in this room believes he isn't the President doesn't make it so. There are thousands of people in the fleet – _thousands_ – who firmly believe that Roslin is a cylon and Baltar has no business distracting himself with the presidency. So in those people's minds, that leaves Zarek, who seems to have come by the position legitimately enough if you don't have a backstage pass to see everything he's done behind the scenes."

"All valid points," Roslin admitted. "And don't think this is a decision we're taking lightly."

"It's a decision you're making in a vacuum," Lee replied. "I spent a lot of time on the civilian ships before taking command of _Pegasus_. I've seen how the people think, how they live. And most of them don't give a rat's ass about who's in charge. There are widowed single mothers who've turned to prostitution just to keep food in their children's mouths. They see a colony, a place to build a new life that might somehow be like what they lost. Zarek is offering them that, and you're sitting here debating whether the laws of a lost civilization give him the authority to do what he's doing. You're completely out of touch."

When Lee stopped talking, Kara could feel a palpable change in the air. There was now doubt where there'd been certainty. And as much as she hated it to admit it, she knew that Lee had made a point. _It's already too late to shut down this colony,_ she knew. _If it becomes clear that the alternative to Zarek is getting back on the ships and running some more, the majority of people will support him no matter how illegitimate his claim to power._

"We're ending this," the admiral said evenly. And like that, the mood in the room changed again.

"Rushing this is going to get people killed," Lee pointed out.

"Yes," Roslin agreed with a nod.

Starbuck looked into Roslin's eyes and saw a grim determination, a resolve that had never been there before. She remembered the President's request, and she started piecing together what she was certain the Roslin was planning. _Okay, maybe there **is** one alternative that the people would find more attractive than staying here on New Caprica,_ she decided. _She told us the war was over – it was the reason we abandoned the Colonies – but she's going to take us back. She's going to roll the dice in one battle against the cylons._

The admiral stood wearily, looking down into the eyes of everyone present. "The decision has been made," he announced, focusing his attention on his son. "Commander, I believe you and the Colonel already began planning an assault on Colonial One, focusing on success rather than worrying about casualties or damage."

"Yes, Sir," Lee said.

"I want a report by 0600 tomorrow," Adama ordered. "Work with Starbuck."

"We could get Rutger, too," Tigh added.

"No," Adama said firmly. "He's out of your planning, and he won't be taking part in the mission."

Starbuck knew there was something they weren't being told. _Not that that's anything new,_ she reminded herself, remembering how it had been before Roslin first went away to Chiron. It had gotten to the point where Roslin and the Old Man had confided only in each other, functioning almost as a single individual focused on goals that weren't shared with everyone else. _Whatever they're up to, I guess my job is the same,_ she decided. _I get to follow orders; that's it, and that's all. Simple enough._

_To be continued……………………………_


	6. The Direct Use of Force

Battlestar Galactica 2003 is a copyright of the Sci Fi Channel. Battlestar Galactica is a trademark and copyright of Universal Studios. Ron Moore re-imagined Glen A. Larson's original idea; but then again, most people who would be reading this already know that. My use is in no way intended to challenge or infringe upon any established copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

………………………………………………………

**VI – The Direct Use of Force**

Admiral Adama shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other, ticking off items in his mental list of things that could still go wrong with this operation.

"This'll take a few minutes," Tigh grumbled over the wireless. The line cut off, leaving C.I.C. in relative silence.

Thus far, the assault had gone smoothly. Of the ships that had flown directly into _Galactica's_ firing solution during the first raid on Colonial One, only the _Paris_ returned for Round 2. The captains of the _Starlight Carousel_ and _Starburst_ had apparently thought better of putting their ships and crew in harm's way a second time. _Or more likely, they don't feel as committed to Zarek now that Roslin is back,_ Adama decided.

Without large ships in the way, Adama had simply flown _Galactica_ straight at Colonial One, keeping Zarek's ship pinned between _Galactica_ and _Pegasus_, using the battlestars as cover for the Raptors. Without a practical way to stop Adama's people from boarding Colonial One, Zarek's people were left to slug it out against trained marines after they boarded. Beta and Gamma teams had been able to establish hard seals with Colonial One, and those two squads of marines were already aboard. Only Tigh's squad ended up encountering effective resistance to their attempts to board. The third airlock had been blown out, and now Tigh's people had to cut through the hull.

_Maybe it's better if he's delayed,_ Adama considered. He knew why his XO volunteered to lead the troops; he knew there was some reason why Saul held Zarek responsible for Ellen's death, that there was something Tigh had figured out and wasn't willing to share. But his excuses for leading the mission still made sense. He'd pointed out that the troops needed an experienced officer to lead them, and that even with the best preparation, something would go wrong.

_'Neither of you want that on you,'_ he'd told Adama and Roslin. _'If the operation goes south, if this turns into another massacre, you'll need someone to blame this on. The civilians all hate me, already, because of what I did under martial law. Just make sure the cover story will hold – that we went over there willing to negotiate, but that we wanted Zarek to know the stalemate was over. If civilians die, just tell the people I screwed up. They won't have any problem believing that.'_

Admiral Adama smiled at the memory, despite himself. _Saul Tigh, always the bad-ass soldier._

"We're through the hull," Tigh reported over the wireless. There was a lot of banging in the background, and suddenly the sound of gunfire cut off Tigh's next comment.

"Say again," Adama ordered.

"They've got a barricade set up about ten meters from our entry point," Tigh reported. "I've got one guy down. Get your masks on," he told his men.

Adama knew Tigh's team would end up waiting for a couple of minutes before trying to advance again, so he switched over to another channel. "Alpha Team, what's your status?"

"Heavy resistance, Sir," Sergeant Hadrian responded. "They've got us pinned down right now, but we've got plenty of cover. I'm planning to let them keep shooting for a few minutes. I can't imagine they have enough ammunition to keep us here, forever."

"Understood," Adama said, nodding. _She's got the right idea,_ he thought, though he wasn't entirely happy with any additional delays. Hoping for better news from the third team, he switched over to another frequency. "Beta Team, what's your status?"

"We just cleared a barricade," Sergeant Haywood said. "I have two men hit, Sir; they're still mobile, though, and falling back to the Raptor."

"What's the situation?"

"They're fighting to the death, sir," Haywood answered, clearly surprised. No one had expected that kind of dedication from the defenders. _Then again, there are some who still see Zarek as the object of prophecy, and who might actually believe his latest claim that Roslin is a cylon decoy sent here to test our faith. Political cronies won't fight to the death, but religious zealots might._

"Understood," Adama said, signaling Annar to cut off the line. Once she was clear, he told her, "Get a hold of the Colonel and tell him to expect them to fight to the death." Once he'd relayed that order, he opened a line to _Pegasus_, himself.

"Yes, Admiral?" Lee asked.

"Launch your alert fighters," Adama ordered. "Cut off all traffic out there, including the shuttles between the surface and the fleet. Nothing gets through until we see what Colonial One looks like."

"Understood," Lee said.

_At least civilian communications are down,_ Adama thought, shaking his head in disappointment. As bad as things were right now, he could only imagine how much worse they could be if, as Starbuck warned, Zarek had been able to film and transmit a live feed of what was going on aboard Colonial One.

"We're moving again," Tigh reported. "The sleeping gas completely incapacitated the people in this hall. And another thing, Sir – those defenders weren't security personnel. They were skinny, untrained… I'll bet Zarek brought in some civilians as battle fodder, hoping they'd get butchered so he could blame us for using excessive force."

"Understood," Adama said angrily, disappointed in himself for being surprised by Zarek doing something so completely, and predictably, despicable.

"Anyway, we're progressing to Junction 7," Tigh said.

The admiral allowed himself a short moment to relax. Junction 7 was the point where the two main halls converged, right outside of the presidential offices. It was the rally point for all of his marines, the place where they would converge in force and face what was expected to be the best-trained of Zarek's men.

"What's Beta Team's status?" Tigh asked.

"On schedule," Adama said, trying to ignore his irritation at running all communications through C.I.C. Unfortunately, the hand-held com units had not yet been upgraded to filter out the white noise generated across all channels by the _Aether_, so rather than communicate with each other aboard Colonial One, each teams had to carry one bulky transmitter and report in to _Galactica_, where their information was then relayed to the other two teams. "Beta Team may actually beat you to Junction 7."

"Sounds like they just got there," Tigh answered.

Adama nodded when he heard muffled gunfire over the channel.

"Yeah, I see the junction point up ahead," Tigh said. "These are some of Matton's security guys – they're not like the civilians by the airlock."

"Understood," Adama said. "Do what you have to do."

"Aye," Tigh replied, already dropping to one knee and taking aim.

One of Matton's men caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, and managed to pivot and bring Alpha Team to bear just in time to be gunned down by Tigh and three of his marines. The other guards started diving for cover into what appeared to be a storage closet that wasn't in the ship's specs. Two of the guards were hit by ricocheting bullets almost immediately, and it wasn't long before Tigh decided that he and his men had the situation well in hand.

"Hold your fire," he called out. It took several moments for his own men to stop shooting, and several more before Beta Team held their fire. "One chance," Tigh yelled. "Surrender right now. Throw your weapons out onto the floor, and slowly come out with your hands on your head.

Long, drawn-out seconds crawled by in silence before a voice Tigh recognized as Matton's answered, "We can't just throw down our weapons, Colonel. We're sworn to protect the president."

"She's over on _Galactica_," Tigh answered.

"So you say," Matton responded. "That's a political matter, and therefore not my problem."

"Then let the politicians handle it," Tigh suggested. "You're outnumbered and outgunned, Walter. If we have to kill you and all of your men, we can and will. Or you could surrender and stick around to protect whoever the people and the Quorum decide is our rightful leader."

Several more moments of silence passed before a handgun was tossed out of the closet, landing with a heavy, metallic thud in the hall. "Okay," Matton said. "We surrender. But I'm trusting you not to kill him."

"Is he armed?" Tigh asked as he rose to his feet and approached the head of presidential security.

"Yeah," Matton admitted. "And to be honest, Colonel, I don't know that he wants to be taken alive."

"Understood," Tigh said, "and you know I can't make any promises about taking him alive."

"I do," Matton said with a defeated shrug.

Tigh turned to Corporal Venner and said, "Get a medic in here for these men. Then set up a perimeter and hold position."

"Sir?" Venner asked.

"I'm going in to talk to the President," Tigh said. He grabbed the door, was surprised to find it unlocked, and walked right in to Zarek's office. He found the would-be President sitting comfortably in his chair, a pistol on the desk in front of him.

"Don't move," Tigh said, aiming his weapon at Zarek's forehead.

"So… what, you're going to shoot me?" Zarek asked as Tigh stared down the barrel of his sidearm.

"Yes," the Colonel answered.

"I'm the President," Zarek said.

"No you're not," Tigh replied, disappointed that Zarek didn't seem to understand the gravity of his situation. "Not that it would matter if you were."

"I find it hard to believe Roslin or the admiral sent you over here to kill me, Colonel."

"They didn't," Tigh admitted. "My orders are to take you alive."

"Then I surrender," Zarek said, extending his hands in front of him, waiting to be shackled.

"I'm not arresting you," Tigh told him. "You killed my wife."

"Ellen's dead?"

"Don't pretend you didn't know." Tigh looked over the man in front of him, desperately searching for any body language that would confirm what he already knew. _He's a liar, a terrorist, and an ex-con,_ Tigh reminded himself. _He lies as easily as he breathes._ A small chuckle escaped his chest as he laughed at his own insecure wish for a confession. "Ellen was feeding you information, and you killed her."

"She did get information for me," Zarek admitted, his eyes now starting to move uneasily back and forth, from Tigh, to his pistol, to the closed door behind him. He'd noticed that no one else was coming into the room, despite the fact that he knew full well all of his security personnel had either surrendered or been killed. _The game is over – there should be a dozen marines in here by now._ "But just because we worked together doesn't mean I killed her," Zarek reasoned. "Besides, how was I supposed to get to her on _Galactica_?"

"She's not the first person you've had assassinated on _Galactica_," Tigh pointed out. "I seem to remember the unfortunate death of a man sent to kill President Roslin."

"I didn't kill Ellen… I didn't have her killed," Zarek insisted. "Why would you believe that I did?"

"Because I've been watching you," Tigh said, breathing deeply, taking a moment to etch forever in his memory the image of Tom Zarek at the wrong end of his service pistol. "Everything you've done to the fleet, all the people you've gotten killed… but it really doesn't matter to me. You killed Ellen. I wish Starbuck took this shot when she had the chance."

"I'm telling you, I didn't ki--" The rest of his words were cut off by a gunshot that deposited the back half of Tom Zarek's skull on the bulkhead behind him.

_To be continued……………………………_


	7. Agreements and Strategies

Battlestar Galactica 2003 is a copyright of the Sci-Fi Channel. Battlestar Galactica is a trademark and copyright of Universal Studios. Ron Moore re-imagined Glen A. Larson's original idea; but then again, most people who would be reading this already know that. My use is in no way intended to challenge or infringe upon any established copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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**Author's Note:** It occurs to me that I haven't given anyone here fair warning of my plans. I hope to have the story done prior to the beginning of Season 3 (a plan which at this point could only be complicated by a complete loss of my muse or complications caused by thinking too much about a fic I'm writing for a ficathon, due to be finished Oct. 1). This story looks to be at least 14 chapters. I'm toying with a double-ending (an idea that will make more sense when you see how it ends) that would stretch it to 15 chapters, and there's also the possibility of an Epilogue tacked on after that, which would help drive home one of the underlying themes of the trilogy. Right now I've completed through Chapter 10, and I've done a first draft of a huge chunk of the mammoth Chapter 12. Chapter 11 is started, but promises to be a hard slog; however, anyone who knows how I structure my stories can probably guess why Chapter 11 will have to be completed before I can do any of Chapter 13 and beyond. So that's pretty much it. Thanks to everyone who's stuck with me this long. Not much further to go now.

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**VII – Agreements and Strategies**

"Admiral?" Baltar asked, walking hesitantly into a meeting room on Galactica that he'd never seen before. The décor was unquestionably non-military, and Baltar decided that this must be one of the rare places on the ship that had not been refit after _Galactica's_ aborted conversion to a museum.

"Doctor Baltar," Roslin said warmly, walking from behind a large, potted plant once she'd made certain he was alone.

"Ms. Roslin," Baltar replied, looking her over. "You look well. There's a rumor going around that you've been given a clean bill of health."

"Yes," Roslin responded, smiling broadly. "I've been very lucky."

"Indeed." Baltar looked around the room, making certain that they were alone, and decided it was strange not to see Billy lurking in some nearby shadow. _I guess he took his career change a little more seriously than I expected._

"She's up to something, you know," Six commented from behind him.

"Please, sit down," Roslin offered as she made herself comfortable on a large leather settee. "This is my meeting – the admiral won't be joining us."

Baltar leaned back on a matching couch, sighing contentedly as Six took a seat next to him, her short skirt somehow showing even more leg than usual, a feat Baltar thought clearly defied the laws of physics. He waited several moments, intent on letting Roslin explain her reasons for setting up the meeting, before his impatience finally got the better of him. "So, if I may ask, why are we here?"

"Why do you think?" Six said sarcastically.

"I wanted to see how you were doing after your incarceration," Roslin explained smoothly. "And besides, we have a great deal to talk about."

"Yes, we do," Baltar agreed.

"Immediately after he seized control, Tom Zarek set a date for an election," Roslin said, not telling him anything he hadn't already heard.

"Three days from now," Baltar responded, leaning back casually, crossing his legs and resting his hands on his left knee. He concentrated on seeming as relaxed as possible, as if there was no reason to be intimidated by the woman in front of him.

"I'd like to push that date back, to table the elections."

"Of course you would," Baltar replied with a grin.

"She's trying to play you," Six warned.

Baltar nodded almost imperceptibly, assuring Six that he knew exactly what Roslin was up to. "And until the new elections are held?" Baltar asked. "Who do you propose will be our president?"

"The Quorum will have to make a decision," Roslin answered. "I know many people think of me as the rightful president. I also know that with Zarek dead, several others think that power should revert to you, and not to me."

"A strong case could be made for that," Baltar pointed out.

"Unless any concerns about my being a cylon could be put to rest," Roslin responded.

"That _is_ a problematic issue," Baltar admitted.

"Especially given your own political interest in withholding or delaying the results of any tests you run on your cylon detector; we're presented with quite a dilemma," Roslin acknowledged.

"At least she understands her weak position," Six purred, sidling up close to Baltar, brushing the front of his shirt seductively with the back of her nails. "The Quorum would never empower her over you as long as there are doubts about her being a cylon, and you're the only person whose opinion carries enough weight to set those concerns to rest."

"With all of the doubt surrounding the government, with the deep divisions developing amongst our people, I think whoever the Quorum names as interim president would best be chosen by a unanimous vote. I don't know that that's possible," Roslin said evenly. "Right now, people are earnestly continuing the process of building a colony on the planet below."

"A process I support, by the way," Baltar said.

"Staying here is a mistake," Roslin countered. "And while you may be many things, Doctor, you're not a stupid man. You know full well the dangers of remaining in one place. This has to be stopped. I'm appealing to your sense of patriotism, Doctor."

"First of all, let me assure you that my sense of patriotism is doing just fine," Baltar snapped. "And I see it as my patriotic duty to lead this fleet, and all of our people, to a new world. That new world is unquestionably New Caprica."

"Look at her, Gaius," Six whispered in his ear. "Look at her eyes. She didn't look at you like that before, back when desperation drove her to choose you to run as her vice-president. Back then, you were just a sideshow, a gimmick. She sees you as a threat, now. An equal."

Baltar smiled at Six's words, seeing exactly what she was talking about, hearing the care with which Roslin was choosing her words. _I could never have defeated her in an election before she went away,_ he admitted to himself. _But now people suspect she's a cylon, and she isn't going to earn any friends by insisting that we pack up our new home and get back on our ships._

"Building a permanent settlement on this planet is not an issue that can be decided in a matter of days, or even weeks, as part of an election," Roslin replied. "This is an issue that should be tabled until after the election."

"Which you would also like tabled," Baltar pointed out. "Has your position become so desperate?"

Roslin started at his curt reply; the caution in her eyes now seemed more like fear, and Baltar enjoyed the feeling of having Roslin on the defensive. _Let's see what she tries next._

"I also want you to run a test and confirm to the Quorum that I'm not a cylon."

Baltar heard the statement for what it was – a demand by a woman who was used to getting her way. And as much as he hated to admit it, he had to give her kudos for continuing to behave as if there was the same dynamic in their relationship that there had always been, as if she still held unquestioned power over him. But her eyes still betrayed her, and Baltar wasn't about to back down.

"The Quorum has understandable and very reasonable concerns about cylons infiltrating our government," Baltar said. "And given the critical importance of any tests we run on you, perhaps we should table them, as well, to make certain that my procedure provides a 100 success rate."

"Yes, the Quorum has concerns," Roslin agreed. "About cylons. About their agents." Her uncertainty vanished like a candle snuffed out by the wind, replaced by a steely intensity that Baltar found all the more unsettling for its sudden, unexpected appearance. "While I was recuperating from my injuries and my cancer, I had some time to think."

"Is that right?"

"Something's wrong, Gaius," Six warned unnecessarily, also picking up on the change in Roslin's demeanor.

"Were you with a blonde woman on Caprica just prior to the attack?"

"A what?" Baltar asked uneasily. He'd always thought of himself as confident, even smooth, but he found that facing an accusation that might amount to treason had a way of knocking him off-guard.

"She knows," Six told him.

"Were you with a tall, blonde woman in the River Walk section of Caprica City just prior to the attack?" Roslin asked slowly, nervously, making certain he understood every single word. And their implication.

"She can see right through you," Six warned. "Get out of here now." There was an anxiety – almost bordering on panic – that Baltar had never heard in her voice before.

Baltar stood to his feet slowly, calmly, reminding himself that he should at least look like the man he thought Roslin saw him as being at the beginning of their meeting. _Calm, cool, confident, dangerous. Not one to be bullied by vague, unsupported accusations that sound like the paranoid lunacy of a woman desperate to deflect attention away from the fact that thousands suspect her of being a cylon, herself._ Thinking about the situation in those terms helped to bring his mind back into focus.

"You'll resort to anything in your position, won't you?" Baltar asked. "However, I'm afraid my affairs on Caprica, and who I chose to consort with, are none of your business. I'm not sure what you think you're implying, but I'd like to remind you that my work has likely saved thousands of lives; I won't save your political career, too." He turned and covered half the distance to the exit before he Roslin's voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

"We have another cylon prisoner," Roslin told him.

"Excuse me?" he asked, still not turning around. _Is she going to say that the prisoner gave me up? Does she actually have evidence of what I did?_ He took a shallow breath to help steel his nerves. _No, if she had any evidence, she would have told me by now,_ he decided. _She would have arrested me as soon as I walked through the door._

"Be careful, Gaius," Six said behind him. Baltar turned to find her standing behind Roslin, speaking over her left shoulder. "She may have evidence," Six warned, "but she'll be reluctant to use it. She still needs you – cylon collaborator or not, you're still the finest human mind in the fleet, the one man who can conclusively say she's not a cylon."

"Another cylon?" Baltar asked. "How can you be sure?"

"We've seen this model before," Roslin explained. "It's the same model that claimed to be a human woman with evidence that you'd betrayed humanity. The same woman I saw you with on the River Walk."

"I'm afraid your memory must be--"

"Spare me," Roslin interrupted. "I honestly have no interest in what you have to say about that. What concerns me right now is what that cylon knows. We've gotten a bit of information from Sharon Valerii, but we have no way of checking her for accuracy. She may have planted a few dangerous lies within a wealth of truth."

"So you want me to question this cylon? You want me to see if what Valerii has told us is accurate?" Baltar asked unsteadily. He tried to remain stolid, picturing how Admiral Adama would look if he wanted to keep a secret from someone, but he knew immediately that he failed. _Six was right,_ he cursed silently. _Roslin can see right through me._

"I'm offering a deal," Roslin said.

"And what would that be?"

"You'll run your tests on me, and you'll tell the Quorum that I'm not a cylon," Roslin explained. "You'll resume your position as my vice-president, and we'll mutually agree to table the elections for two months, which I think should give us both plenty of time to form a platform and canvas the fleet for votes."

"And what do I get in return?"

"You'll have unrestricted access to the new cylon prisoner," Roslin answered. "She calls herself Gina. She's on _Pegasus_, and Admiral Cain's crew was… aggressive in their methods of interrogation."

"How aggressive?" Baltar asked warily.

"She's a cylon, just a machine, but even I'm disgusted by the things they did," Roslin admitted. "She hasn't talked; she hardly eats; she's wasting away, Doctor."

"And if I refuse?" Baltar asked.

"I'll space her," Roslin said with a shrug. "Truth be told, I probably should have done that, already. But given the fact that this model has twice been connected to you in some way, I figured that maybe you'd want to have a talk with her."

"No," Six told him. "There's no reason to back down, Gaius. She's got something planned; you can't trust her."

"We can go to my lab right now," Baltar offered, ignoring Six's advice. "I'll take the sample for the cylon detector, and while it's processing, we can go over to _Pegasus_ to see your prisoner." _She's here again,_ he thought, remembering what it was like to hold Six in his arms the way he could on Caprica, the way he'd longed to when she first appeared in the fleet as Shelly Godfrey. _Roslin says she's hurt, but I can make her better. And when I do, she'll be truly grateful to me._

-------------------------------------------------

"You're sure he's not planning on double-crossing you at the last moment?" Adama asked, unwilling to put anything past Gaius Baltar. "He's the type of guy I can see waiting until the ideal moment, when something he says will have maximum effect, and then stabbing you in the back in front of every camera he can find."

"He'll play straight with me," Roslin said confidently. "You should have seen the look in his eyes, how eager he was to go over to _Pegasus_ to see the cylon."

"He's there now?"

"I put him on a Raptor just before I came up here," Roslin answered. "I made a deal – he's running the tests, and I'm providing him limited access, so that he can see her and realize she exists. Once he's had a chance to talk to her, he'll come back here and make his announcement to the Quorum. If he abides by the terms of our agreement, he'll have unrestricted access to the cylon."

"Which isn't a great idea," Adama commented. "Even if we have them under observation and armed guard at all times."

"It's a risk," Roslin admitted, "but an acceptable one. I need full presidential authority to put my plans into motion, and I can't get that without his help. By the time he realizes what's happened, and that he threw away any chance he had to oppose me in the newly set election and build his colony out here, it'll be too late."

"Speaking of your plans," Adama muttered cautiously, "I don't know that this is the best idea."

"We're going back," Roslin stated emphatically.

"It's too soon," Adama replied. "If we waited a few months, we could better arm the ships, give everyone more training. Winning this battle will be difficult, if not impossible, with the force we have."

"We have a narrow window of advantage," Roslin reminded him.

"So we've been told," Adama countered. "But we don't know for certain when that window will be. We also don't have a plan for getting the people off the surface of New Caprica."

"I know," Roslin admitted. "We obviously can't tell them the truth."

"If we do that, any cylons in the fleet will be able to warn their people of what we're up to," Adama responded.

"But there's already one cylon that knows," Roslin reminded him.

"We can trust her," Adama assured her. "I promised Sharon more freedom, a chance to raise her child outside of a prison cell. She'll do anything for that opportunity."

"I know that that's what she wants, but I also assume that a list of things she wanted would have included not shooting you in the chest." Roslin looked at Adama pointedly, knowing he would understand her meaning – even a cylon who wanted to help them couldn't be entirely trusted, not until there was some way of determining whether the cylons still had any control over her.

"We have no choice," the admiral finally said, having let silence hang between them for several minutes. "We've made scores of jumps since fleeing the Colonies; it'll take us almost as long to get back as it took us to get out here. Sharon can get us back in fewer than ten jumps – the entire fleet, back when we're least expected."

"And when the cylons can least afford to have us show up on their doorstep," Roslin added.

"Even if everything breaks our way, you're taking an awful chance," Adama muttered. "We both are."

"I would've thought this would make perfect sense to you," Roslin replied, a grim smile spreading across her lips but never reaching her eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"The first time I met you was when you were busy decommissioning _Galactica_," Roslin reminded him. "In case you forgot, you gave a speech that day."

"I remember," Adama said with a nod. He knew exactly where this was going.

"There were plenty of reporters there, so of course there were several transcripts of your speech floating around," Roslin said. "I got a hold of one on the flight back after the ceremony; it wasn't the type of thing I expected to hear, and I really wanted something to distract me during the trip." She stopped and looked at Adama for several moments before continuing. "I found out about my cancer just before coming out here for the decommissioning ceremony. And as it happened, the only time I wasn't completely preoccupied with my own impending death was during that speech. 'We fought the cylons to save ourselves from extinction, but we never answered the question – Why? Why are we as a people worth saving?' " she asked, quoting Adama's words.

"I remember," Adama assured her.

" 'We visit all of our sins upon our children. We refuse to take responsibility for what we've done,' " she continued, standing from her chair, staring down at the admiral, who for his part squirmed under her reproachful gaze like a child who'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. " 'Like we did with the cylons. We decided to play god, create life. And when that life turned against us, we comforted ourselves in the knowledge that it wasn't our fault. Not really. It was the cylons that were flawed. But the truth is – we're the flawed creation. We're the ones that tried to manufacture life and make it serve us. But you don't play god and then wipe your hands of what you've created. Sooner or later, the day comes when you can't hide from what you've done anymore.' Those were your words."

"Yes," Adama admitted.

"And you were right," Roslin said. "It's our responsibility to go back there and fix our mistakes."

"And you think that would make us, as a people, worth saving?"

"I don't know," Roslin admitted. "But do you think we're worth saving if we don't even bother with the attempt?"

Adama snorted softly in what Roslin assumed was a disheartened attempt at a laugh.

"After the attack, I was busy gathering the survivors into a fleet of refugees," Roslin said.

"I remember," Adama said with a nod.

"Only because you were furious when I demanded that you come and assist us," Roslin said with a warm smile. "We didn't exactly get off on the right foot."

"No, we didn't," Adama agreed, smiling thinly as he remembered his fury at having to deal with a woman he saw only as a school teacher.

"We started dividing the ships up into those that were FTL-capable, and those that weren't," Roslin explained.

The admiral nodded, knowing how this story ended. But he let her take her time telling it all the same.

"I went out to the ships," Roslin said. "I met the people; I met a little girl named Cami. A cylon scout found us, and Lee told us we had minutes, perhaps only seconds, to flee before a strike force arrived to kill us. Some wanted to wait, to save as many as we could before the cylons showed up. Lee explained that they could simply jump in right in the middle of us, destroy us all before we could respond. If I hadn't already seen what the cylons could do – if Lee hadn't already saved us once at that point – I would have waited. But I'd been in a ship that was targeted once already, and I was scared, and I gave the order to run, to abandon thousands."

"It was the right call," the adiral said. "You saved tens of thousands of others."

"Tactically, yes… it was the right decision," Roslin agreed. "But what does it say about us as a species?"

"That the strongest survive," the admiral told her. "And because of that, we'll continue on. Not every human will make it, but humanity will stick around."

"No," Roslin said, shaking her head. "We can't live by the rule that the strongest should survive, that the weak should be abandoned and destroyed."

"No, we can't," Adama agreed.

"Because if we do, we'll then have to admit that the cylons have clearly demonstrated they're stronger."

Adama nodded. "So far, they have," he agreed. "But humanity has been around a lot longer. You were right to run; I've told you that."

"No, we should have stayed to fight," Roslin insisted.

"We would have lost," Adama stated flatly. "War isn't a matter of winning battles. It's a matter of choosing the time and place for those battles, to ensure not only victory, but also the least possible loss of life and resources."

"That's something I've been thinking about lately," Roslin told him. "We should limit our exposure as much as we can in this attack. Some ships, like the _Cloud Nine_, are clearly unfit for combat, while others can take a beating, just as the _Myrmidon_ has after being converted to a warship."

"You want to keep the women and children out of it," Adama guessed, reaching the obvious conclusion. They needed to rebuild the species, and that meant preserving every woman of child-bearing age and every child that represented the next generation. "You'll keep them back somewhere safe, on the ships that aren't battle-ready."

"Yes. We'll keep the women and children out, unless they're already part of it," Roslin replied. "I'm not planning on telling Starbuck she has to sit this out."

"I'd like to see you try," Adama answered. They both laughed lightly, defying the gravity of the situation for a brief moment, before the admiral set his face back in the stolid expression that let everyone – even the President – know that it was time for business. "This is a bigger chance than I would have ever taken," he admitted.

"I know," Roslin assured him. "It's bigger than any I would have ever taken, too. At least until I got to know you." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, visibly calming her nerves. "Together, we can do this."

"Yes, we can," Adama agreed.

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"Gods, what have they done to you?" Baltar muttered as he walked into the cell, his eyes poring over the familiar figure in front of him. The cylon remained silent, sitting on the floor, her knees pulled up against her chest.

She was clothed now, but from what Baltar had heard, she'd been stripped and raped for weeks – months – following the attacks as Admiral Cain's crew unleashed its fury upon the one available target. Even after what the cylons had done to humanity, he found the treatment of this prisoner to be nothing short of barbaric. Monstrous.

"You're not just some machine," he said softly, taking hesitant steps toward the woman. "They don't realize. They _can't_ realize." He waited for several minutes, hoping that the woman would acknowledge his presence, that she would at least glance in his direction, but she remained as still as a statue.

"I won't hurt you," he assured her, staring at the thin scars he saw on her face and hands once he walked around to stand in front of her. "I won't ever hurt you."

She finally looked up at him… and Baltar suddenly wished that she hadn't. There was none of the strength or primal energy, none of the lust or cool condescension that he was so used to seeing on this familiar face. This was a shell of the woman he loved.

_She's not the same woman I knew on Caprica,_ he reminded himself, remembering how Shelly Godfrey had also looked at him as though he were a stranger. _It's the same body, but her spirit is broken. And she needs me to fix her._

_To be continued……………………………_


	8. Prophecy, Religion, and War

Battlestar Galactica 2003 is a copyright of the Sci Fi Channel. Battlestar Galactica is a trademark and copyright of Universal Studios. Ron Moore re-imagined Glen A. Larson's original idea; but then again, most people who would be reading this already know that. My use is in no way intended to challenge or infringe upon any established copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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**VIII – Prophecy, Religion, and War**

"I was hoping I would have a chance to speak to you alone, Madame President," Doreah commented as she looked at the people around the table, seemingly unconcerned with appearing rude before Admiral Adama, Colonel Tigh, Commander Adama, and Captain Thrace. The Sibyl often praised their prowess as soldiers, but she clearly didn't see why they needed to sit in on a meeting she thought was intended specifically to address the religious implications of Roslin's return.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Baltar apologized, entering briskly and almost tripping over Sibyl Doreah's newly fashioned robes of office. Tabitha Donner was right on Baltar's heels, though she managed to avoid the flowing velvet obstacle in her path. "I lost track of time in a meeting," Baltar explained.

"Now that we're all here, I think I should say a few words to bring Ms. Donner and Sibyl Doreah up to date on the situation," Roslin said, pointedly ignoring the vice-president's arrival. "As you're probably aware, the Quorum has tabled the elections that were to have been held today, owing primarily to the fact that the leading candidate was unfortunately killed during our attempts to peacefully resolve the situation."

Kara noticed the sideways glance Roslin directed at Tigh, and she almost giggled aloud at the impatient sigh the Colonel let escape from his chest. _Sometimes I really can't stand the son of a bitch, but there are times his attitude is just pretty damn cool,_ Starbuck admitted silently.

"In addition, following Doctor Baltar's thorough examination and assurances that I am not a cylon, the Quorum also named me the Acting President until such time as new elections are scheduled and held," Roslin continued. "Vice President Baltar is my primary opponent in these elections, but due to his current governmental responsibilities and as a professional courtesy, I've asked him to join us here today."

Starbuck glanced at Baltar, who seemed to be smiling at some untold joke, and then she took a moment to look at each of the other people seated around the table. Roslin, standing at the head of the table, appeared just as confident as ever, clearly having recovered all of her strength during her time away. _And I hope we get to hear a little about where she was,_ Starbuck thought, not for the first time feeling left out by the Old Man's reluctance to share information.

On Roslin's right, the admiral looked almost as if he was struggling to stay awake. Despite the obvious importance of the meeting, Kara had no doubt that given a choice, the admiral would prefer to be in C.I.C.

Across from the Old Man, on Roslin's left, sat Sibyl Doreah, the de facto High Priestess of the Colonies. She carried herself with the self-important air of a true elitist, arrogantly holding herself above the other people at the meeting. But despite her unmistakable sense of superiority, Doreah's eyes still held a warmth and compassion that Starbuck was willing to bet were irresistible when she pulled someone aside and asked after their comfort in these trying times. _Even if the Colonies hadn't been destroyed, she would have risen high in the Holy Orders,_ Starbuck decided.

On the admiral's right, Lee sat there looking alternately lost and bored. Starbuck concluded that Lee was probably trying to seem coolly professional, and had likely determined that his father's indifferent expression was the preferred manner of seasoned officers during a briefing with the President. This inappropriately detached façade was only made more comical when Lee's hidden anxiety boiled to the surface, causing him to squirm awkwardly in his seat, as if he'd accidentally sat down on a porcupine and was too polite to interrupt his superiors to properly deal with the situation.

To the left of Sibyl Doreah, Baltar was now chewing on his fingernails, a nervous habit that Starbuck couldn't remember ever noticing before. _Maybe he picked up some new habits while Zarek had him in a cell,_ she decided. _He's always been a little fidgety, but I don't think he's ever really chowed down on his fingertips like that. It's kind of gross, actually._

On Baltar's left, across from Starbuck, sat Tabitha Donner, the writer who'd released the book that many spoke of as a work of divine inspiration. Starbuck had heard whispers about Donner for weeks now, hushed proclamations that she was the reincarnation of Pythia, that she was the mouth of the gods. The rumors had only grown since Roslin's return, when many of Donner's passages, initially so unclear and considered poorly written, were now taken as veiled prophecies of Roslin's resurrection. Kara initially attributed the public's reaction by seeing what they wanted to see, just as the masses always did when they read ambiguously-worded prophecies; but then she'd read parts of Donner's book herself, and she wasn't ashamed to admit that it creeped her out. And now she was none too thrilled to be sitting across the table from the closest thing the people had to a prophet.

"I suppose I should just get right to the point," Roslin said. "I want to get our people off the surface immediately."

"Absolutely not," Baltar snapped. "New Caprica is our future."

"And if that's true, it will still be our future two months from now," Roslin said calmly, a relaxed, motherly smile spreading across her face. "I've been thinking about what you're said, Doctor, and I admit that you may be right about New Caprica being the right place for our people."

"Is that so?" Baltar asked suspiciously, as if he knew that Roslin was baiting him with some type of verbal trap.

"It is," Roslin said. "However, I want to make certain we don't rush into anything. I've proposed a compromise of sorts with the members of the Quorum, and they're in unanimous agreement. What we'll do is keep shuttling down people with expertise that's crucial for establishing a permanent colony. Only these specialists will go to the surface. Their families will remain on the ships, where they'll be safer in case the cylons find us."

"And where they can't put down roots," Baltar pointed out.

"Roots prevent people from fleeing in time if the cylons find us," Roslin countered. "Besides, it's unwise to have people down there if they have nothing to contribute. Children could get hurt or become sick, men and women with no skills will only be a drain on our limited resources, eating food and drinking water that would better be reserved only for the laborers."

"Valid points," Baltar allowed, backtracking slightly in the face of Roslin's well thought out presentation. "I suppose the question is how many people we can assign to this work on New Caprica."

Kara noticed that Roslin kept referring to 'the planet,' while Baltar repeated the name 'New Caprica' like a mantra. It was subtle, but it was the kind of thing Lee had advised her to listen for. Little semantic games were a great way to pick up exactly how the people's leaders actually felt about an issue, and Kara had no problem picking out exactly how Roslin and Baltar fell on the issue of a permanent settlement. Roslin spoke of a rock just like any other in the galaxy, while Baltar personalized the planet, providing it with an identity.

"There won't be many people sent down for the next few weeks," Roslin said with a shrug. "Most of our people with construction and electronics experience are needed here on the ships, to carry out a special program we've just initiated."

"And what program is that?" Baltar asked.

"We're arming some of the heavier ships," Roslin explained. "It seems the sensible thing to do. We've located several Minotaur Six firing systems on _Galactica_ and even some of the older freighters. These systems were designed for civilian use, so it won't take long to install them and train firing teams. Once that's done, the men and women on that project will be transferred down to the surface to start building permanent shelters. Until then, I think we should focus our efforts on agriculture."

"Agriculture," Baltar repeated dubiously.

"We need food," Roslin pointed out. "Shelters will be important, too, but they can wait for a few weeks. However, crops will take months to grow, and we can't hope to establish any type of permanent settlement without a renewable source of food. We have supplies of seed, and even a few agricultural engineers, but before we can plant and grow a full harvest, we have to figure out the climate, the seasons, and what crops will grow best – or at all – on this planet."

"I suppose that's so," Baltar admitted.

Starbuck thought it obvious that Baltar's unrivaled intellect hadn't spent a whole hell of a lot of time pondering the practical issues associated with establishing a colony. _More likely, he decided that was a great way to score political points, so he voiced his support for staying here while figuring there would be other people to actually put his plans into motion. I guess he's more a politician than I gave him credit for._

"So since we'll be sitting here for what will likely be months while the initial steps to building a colony commence below, it only seems reasonable that we set up what defenses we can," Roslin continued.

"If we're not counting on mobility – the chance to flee if and when the cylons find us – we'll have to fortify the position as much as possible," Lee commented. "To do otherwise would be foolish, especially if we hope to make this a permanent colony. Space is very big, but permanent is a long time; the odds are that if the cylons are looking for us, they'll find us eventually, whether it be a month, a year, or a century from now. If we're staying, we have to be smart about it."

Kara initially thought it odd that Lee, rather than his father, would make the military's case, but then she remembered that not long ago, Lee had been the President's military advisor. Baltar was probably used to Lee interjecting with points like that, and though it had been some time since President Roslin held an official briefing, it seemed to Kara as if everyone had fallen back in his familiar role quite quickly.

"It sounds as if you're actually planning on staying," Doreah said.

"I think I've made my wishes on the matter quite plain," Roslin replied. "I think staying here is foolishly shortsighted, but the fact that we have a democracy means the people will get to decide this matter when they elect a president. I know in my heart that staying here is a mistake, but the people will decide. I just hope they stay focused on what's best in the long run."

"Well I think you're still dwelling on the dangers of the past, rather than embracing the possibilities of the future," Baltar retorted.

"My thoughts are primarily on the challenges of the present, Doctor," Roslin responded, her voice the slightest bit condescending.

_Condescending, but also something else,_ Kara decided, hearing something more than the obvious in the President's tone. _She sounds… I don't know. Disappointed, maybe._

"Though my concern with the present doesn't mean I haven't also considered the future," Roslin continued. "This planet is less than ideal, only a temporary solution to our problems. If everything that could go right, does, then how long can we stay here? How long until our population grows too large for the amount of habitable territory? And what do you propose we do then?"

"By then we'll have a large enough population to go back among the stars," Baltar said glibly, as if the answer should have been obvious. "We'll be able to find new worlds and set up new colonies. The people see this – every poll shows increasing support for a colony, despite your return from the dead and your insistence that staying here is a mistake."

"It is," Roslin said sadly.

Kara could hardly believe the defeat she now heard in the President's voice, the sorrow etched on her face. It was hard to believe that the confident woman who'd started this meeting had swiftly been beaten into a hopeless malaise by a few well-placed remarks from a weasel with a doctorate.

"Well, I appreciate your invitation to this meeting, but I think I'll spend my time a bit more productively," Baltar said, standing from his chair, gazing down at everyone before finally locking his eyes on Roslin's. "Perhaps I'll look over the photos and surveys from the surface, maybe help the civil engineers figure out how best to build our first city."

"Think about what I've said," Roslin told him.

"Oh, I will," he assured her. He practically strutted to the door, basking in the glow of Roslin's concessions toward starting the colony. His hand was on the doorknob when he stopped, turned back to them all, and added, "Please let me know if you need help with any real problems."

"Of course," Roslin said with a nervous smile.

_Well, he may have stumbled into the room, but he sure knew how to make an exit,_ Kara decided, impressed with Baltar's performance. He'd hardly appeared the twitchy, inexplicably preoccupied lab rat many had labeled him since his arrival on _Galactica_. She looked over to Roslin, expecting to see a woman desperately trying to regain her composure, but was surprised to find a satisfied smirk that gave Kara the impression that Baltar had just predictably walked into some sort of set-up.

The atmosphere in the room underwent a palpable change as everyone else noticed Roslin's unconcerned demeanor. The President walked over to the door, turned the lock, and looked back at everyone seated around the table. "What I'm about to say stays in this room," she said.

Her voice sounded pleasant enough, but there was an unfamiliar undertone of menace that told Kara in no uncertain terms that revealing what the President was about to say would be punished in the harshest way possible. She had no idea what that punishment might be, but she wasn't willing to find out. And from a glance at the other faces at the table, she knew she wasn't alone.

"We're not staying here," she announced with an unnerving certainty.

"Where are we going, Ma'am?" Lee asked.

"Ms. Donner, I've been assured of your cooperation," Roslin said, ignoring Lee for the time being.

"Yes, Ma'am," Donner said.

_Assured of her cooperation?_ Kara wondered, looking over the writer, certain that there must be more to her than she'd ever thought, but clueless as to what that might be.

"Captain Thrace?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Kara replied, bursting from her chair to stand at attention. She managed to sneak a glance at Lee, and she decided the mental image of his shocked reaction to her formality was enough to keep her amused for days.

"I know you won't discuss this, either," Roslin said.

"No, Ma'am," Kara agreed, though she had no idea what she was agreeing to.

"At ease, Captain," Roslin said.

"Yes, Ma'am," Starbuck replied, seating down almost as quickly as she'd stood up.

"Commander, you've been known to violate orders if you felt there was good reason," Roslin said.

"Yes, Ma'am," Lee replied evenly. Kara noticed Lee wasn't in any hurry to stand up at attention; he was clearly hesitant to agree to anything before he heard the details.

"I need you to remember this is a direct order from your President," Roslin said. "There was a time when I know that meant something to you, when you risked everything to make certain the civilian government was not superseded by the military."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"I'm taking you at your word, Commander."

Kara thought it bizarre to hear a President speak to a command officer in this way. Not that she had much experience listening to Presidents issue orders to battlestar commanders, but she was reasonably certain it never went like this before the cylon attack.

"Colonel Tigh… I know you'll always respect the chain of command," Roslin said, turning to _Galactica's_ XO.

"Yes, Ma'am," Tigh muttered.

Kara smiled despite herself. _'Respect the chain of command,'_ she thought with amusement. _She should probably have just come right out and said that she knows damn well Tigh will follow the Old Man into Hades, so as long as she has the admiral's agreement, she has Tigh's_.

"Now, Sibyl Doreah," Roslin said, her tone suddenly different. It was clear that she was addressing someone she thought of as an equal. This was the professional manner she usually saved only for the admiral, and Kara knew it was the perfect way to deal with the Sibyl.

"Yes, President Roslin?"

"I'd hoped to discuss this with you before this meeting, as I did with Admiral Adama, but given the fact that I had to start slowing down the colony-building efforts as soon as possible, I'd hoped you would overlook my lack of courtesy in this matter."

"Of course," Doreah said indulgently.

"Although I know you keep your own counsel, I would also ask, due to the importance of what I'm about to say, that you refrain from speaking about my plans."

"I respect your wishes," Doreah said, "but as you pointed out, I keep my own counsel."

That stopped Roslin dead in her tracks, and Kara could see the debate going on within the President's mind. She had to decide whether Doreah was likely to keep her secrets and, if she didn't, how people would react to what they heard.

"Fine," Roslin finally said. "Simply put, I will not allow our people to stop here and set up a permanent settlement."

"That is, of course, the proper decision," Doreah commented.

"With all due respect, Madame President, I don't see how you're going to stop them," Lee said. "Hundreds of people have already been down there, and thousands more have made arrangements to join them. You may have bought a temporary reprieve with this plan to bring most of our people back up here to set up defenses, but people will only go along with it because of the implication that setting up defenses means we're staying."

"That's what I'm counting on," Roslin admitted.

"So you're lying to the people," Lee said accusingly.

"No more than Gaius Baltar is when he says he believes this is a good idea," Roslin countered. "I'm the President, which means I have to lead our people on the best course of action, whether they agree with it or not. And if I have to lie to them, then so be it."

Lee stared at her as if she was a stranger he'd never seen before, and Kara found herself feeling sorry for her friend. He hadn't really spent much time around the President since she'd returned; he hadn't had a chance to see how much she'd changed.

"Then fine, lie to them," Lee said, throwing his hands up in resignation, "but once you've finished arming the civilian ships, you'll be right back here, trying to figure out how to delay the colony again."

"No, I won't," Roslin told him. "By that point we won't be here anymore."

"Excuse me?" Lee asked. "Where, exactly, are you planning on going?"

"The one place I can think of that would be more attractive than this place," Roslin responded.

"Earth?" Lee asked. "We don't know where it is."

"We're prophesied to go there," Doreah cut in. "President Roslin is meant to guide us."

"We're not going to Earth, either," Roslin said.

And with that, an eerie silence descended over the room. Starbuck looked again at the faces seated around her, trying to figure out if she was the only one who knew what President Roslin had planned. She was willing to bet the Old Man knew, though she wasn't going to make any bets on it; he was impossible to read. Doreah was flustered, Tigh and Donner looked curious, and Lee was openly confused by the unexpected development in the conversation.

"Where are we going?" Lee finally asked.

"Home," Roslin said.

"Back to the Colonies?" Lee responded skeptically.

"Yes."

"That's suicide, Madame President," Lee told her. "You led us away from there, and you were right. If my father--"

"Admiral Adama had nothing to do with my decision," Roslin assured him.

"Fine," Lee snapped, "but going back there is the last thing we should do."

"No," Roslin said firmly. "We're going back to the Colonies."

"You can't be serious," Doreah interjected, rising to challenge the president at eye level, her long robes flapping around her as she moved. "Madame President, we're meant to go to Earth."

"No," Roslin said again. "Fleeing to Earth means allowing the cylons to survive. We made a terrible mistake, and it's our responsibility to correct that mistake."

"This is madness," Doreah countered, absolutely aghast at Roslin's suggestion. "You're the leader prophesied by Pythia."

"Perhaps," Roslin allowed.

"And the leader of the caravan of the heavens is to guide us to Earth."

"No." Roslin's voice was firm, brooking no argument. "I cannot agree with the decision to continue searching for Earth. We have no concrete evidence it even exists, and I'm not going to lead our few remaining people on a fool's errand when I know in my heart we should go back. Proceeding as Pythia prophesied will gain us nothing."

"All this has happened before," Doreah protested, speaking the words with all the sanctity she could muster. "All this will happen again."

"No," Admiral Adama interrupted sternly, immediately drawing every pair of eyes in the room. "It won't."

Kara thought the timing perfect. She could imagine Roslin and the admiral planning this meeting, agreeing that he should remain silent unless they needed to make a point. His stern, gravelly voice was made all the more effective by the fact that he'd been absolutely silent for the entire meeting.

"What do you mean?" Doreah asked.

"Pythia's prophecies tell us that humanity has faced such desolation and hardship before," Roslin explained.

"Yes, when we fled Kobol," Doreah agreed.

"Pythia tells us of a cycle, of how we would again be made to suffer, and how we would flee to Earth."

"Yes," Doreah repeated.

"So it seems to me that continuing on to Earth as prophesied will only gain us pain when this all happens again, as prophesied," Roslin reasoned. "Pythia tells us of a cycle of destruction and flight, of rebuilding that starts it all again. I had a cousin who was fond of saying that the definition of madness is to keep taking the same flawed action, each time expecting a different result. This stops now – we're not continuing the cycle. We're going back home, to set right what we did wrong."

"It's… it's blasphemy," Doreah muttered.

"No," Donner said, drawing all eyes to her. "It's visionary, Madame President." She stood and gazed at the three people at the head of the table. "Ever since the Articles of Confederation were signed, there have been divisions amongst our people," she continued. "Both between and within the tribes. There are so few of us now that we have no choice but to unite as one people, destroying the rifts between the tribes. And seeing the three of you together – the head of the military, the Church, and the civilian government – I can see all other divisions fading into memory. The three of you will guide us into a new era."

Kara saw Donner's words for what they were – a rehearsed speech. But she also saw that Doreah did not, that the Sibyl was pondering Donner's words, all of them chosen with the care of a professional writer. Donner had already written one book that was taken for prophecy, accorded the respect of divine inspiration. Doreah knew that Donner would write of this meeting, and she was faced with two options. She could be a slave to the old prophecies, none of which mentioned her by name, or she could be a central figure in Donner's new book, a woman whose name would live on forever. Doreah didn't have to be a trained oracle to see how easy it was to make this decision.

"You are truly touched by the gods, Madame President," Doreah finally said.

"I have your support?" Roslin asked.

"I will start speaking to our people," Doreah assured the President. "I will begin to question them as to why they're satisfied living here on this cold, barren rock when the cylons dwell in our rightful homes."

"Thank you," Roslin said.

Kara knew that Doreah's subtle work would aid in swaying public opinion, especially given the fact that so many had turned back toward the gods in their time of need. _But it won't be enough to inspire them with thoughts of home,_ Kara knew. _We also need a way to get back there without the cylons seeing us coming. And we need a way to defeat a military force that already handed us our asses once before, when there were billions more of us and scores of fully-manned battlestars._

_To be continued……………………………_


	9. More Human Than Human

Battlestar Galactica 2003 is a copyright of the Sci Fi Channel. Battlestar Galactica is a trademark and copyright of Universal Studios. Ron Moore re-imagined Glen A. Larson's original idea; but then again, most people who would be reading this already know that. My use is in no way intended to challenge or infringe upon any established copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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**IX – More Human Than Human**

Caprica Six walked slowly, her steps measured, taking a perverse pleasure in every ache in her body, reveling in the fact that every painful wince was evidence that she was alive, that she'd avoided being boxed. _Whatever we do, however we go about this, I can't risk being killed and downloaded; they'll never let me make it to a new body._ The sky was still gray above her, the air holding the foreboding chill of the early nuclear winter. She tried to remember the sun, the way it had been before the cylons blotted it out with mushroom clouds full of smoke and ash, and she found it was almost impossible.

"You were quite thorough," Baltar commented from beside her. Caprica Six started at his voice, doing her best to avoid the curious gaze of a Three that was tending to a centurion pinned under a collapsed roof. "I don't think the sun will shine here for decades."

"It will only be a couple of years," Caprica Six assured him. "Our atmospheric processors will see to that."

"Oh, of course," Baltar sighed, "how silly of me. I forgot all about your plans to rebuild the planet after you reduced it to rubble. You certainly thought of everything."

"We have to cleanse the radiation from the air," Caprica Six said with a shrug. "Even cylons suffer degradation from constant exposure to radioactive fallout."

"Yes, you suffer some degradation," Baltar said. "Funny, that. See, we humans experience a rather more serious reaction."

"Are you pointing out how different I am from humans?" Caprica Six asked. "I thought we were past that." She saw a look of surprise in his eyes; he hadn't expected her to challenge him. _It's certainly been long enough since I have._

"That was certainly not my intention," Baltar replied. "I told you before, I love you more now than I ever have."

"Why?" Caprica Six asked.

"Don't you see?" Baltar responded, a sly smile spreading across his face. "You rebelled against the other cylons; I don't think you realize yet how momentous this is. There are twelve models, each of them different from the others. The Threes are different from the Nines, the Fours different from the Fives. But each of the Fours is alike, just as each of the Threes are. And the Sixes. Sure, you can take ten Sevens and give them all different names and memories, but they'll all react to specific stimuli in similar ways. The reason is that the base pattern – the cylon's fundamental personality – is the same, like a core computer program that has a few tweaks here and there based on the individual."

"I'm not just some computer program," Caprica Six objected. She saw a Two staring at her strangely, doubtlessly wondering who she was speaking to. That was enough to remind her of the danger she was still in.

"No, you're not just some computer program," Baltar agreed. "And neither is Sharon Valerii. The cylons are machines, united in purpose and, to a certain extent, mind. You two decided to oppose that purpose, to question the decisions your people have made; you've articulated a moral opposition to the cylons' policies. This is not the behavior of a machine, my dear."

"You're talking about me as if I were human," Caprica Six said, wondering if she found that a compliment or an insult.

"The cylons were originally developed by humans," Baltar reminded her. "The first cylons were programmed to serve humans, to cater to their wants and needs; and of course, to do that, you all had to understand humanity, to think and even in some way feel like humanity. After the cylons broke away and started designing new versions of themselves, some of these fundamental drives remained – rather than re-create yourselves from the ground up, you fashioned new models as upgrades of earlier models. Some of your thoughts and drives will always be based upon, and derived from, those of the flawed humans who first built you, because you're the product of your makers, just as human children are shaped by the personalities of their parents."

"What are you saying?" Caprica Six asked.

"I'm saying that you're the first to exceed your programming, to become an individual unlike any other cylon," Baltar said. "Sharon Valerii was the second. There will eventually be others, and as that happens, the cylons will be faced with internal divisions. Some will insist on staying here and building a new society. Some will insist on going out after humanity, to hunt them into extinction before they have a chance to regroup and maybe avenge themselves on you one day."

"And others will suggest that maybe we should stop being like the humans that created us," Caprica Six suggested, "that maybe we should acknowledge that which ties us to our creators, that we _need_ to acknowledge those ties if we're to free ourselves of them."

"Precisely," Baltar agreed.

"We're imperfect machines, created by an imperfect species," Caprica Six muttered uncomfortably. "If we're to achieve order and perfection, if we hope to please God, we have to find our own way."

"Yes," Baltar said. "It's a plan. However, how can you expect to free yourselves of your ties to humanity of you live here, in the ashes of their society, rebuilding their world in an image similar to that which you destroyed?"

"We can't," Caprica Six realized. "If we're to find our own way, we have to leave here. We have to start all over again somewhere else."

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Sharon's eyes opened, her mind alert, as soon as she heard Hera start crying. She was up and had her child in her arms in moments, and Hera settled down in a heartbeat. _She just wanted to be held,_ Sharon decided.

During the last few months of her pregnancy, Sharon had started to fear motherhood. No one had known what Hera would be like, what challenges might await any who undertook the task of caring for the child. After months of quiet confidence, Sharon had come to a startling, terrifying realization – her memories of babysitting neighboring families' children when she was a teenager were all fabricated.

Sleepless nights followed as Sharon wondered just how much she actually knew about caring for an infant. _After all, I never actually took care of Timmy Gathers,_ Sharon had reminded herself. _That was just a memory implanted in my mind. Timmy Gathers may not have ever existed, and the things I did to take care of him may or may not have been advisable techniques of taking care of a child._

Sharon spent the subsequent weeks questioning everything, from whether she actually knew how to change a diaper, to whether or not it was a good idea to rock an infant to sleep. And in the end, confronted with Hera's tiny body, she'd found it all came surprisingly easily… though it didn't hurt to know that the nurses would help cover for any minor mistakes when Hera went back to sick bay to spend time in the incubator.

Thinking of the incubator reminded Sharon to listen to Hera's chest. The infant's breaths weren't quite labored, but they definitely required more effort than when she'd first arrived for her daily visit. _She'll have to go back soon,_ Sharon knew, _but she was out longer than yesterday, just like she'll be out even longer tomorrow, and the day after that. Soon her lungs will be strong enough for her to stay out all the time._

Despite the joy of that thought, Sharon also felt a slight twinge of fear. _They know about her,_ she told herself, not for the first time. There were two thoughts that plagued Sharon in between visits with Hera, and this was the one that absolutely terrified her. _What are the cylons going to do?_ she wondered for the umpteenth time.

Sharon had actually spent a great deal of time talking to the admiral about this, wondering what security precautions he'd taken to ensure that cylon agents couldn't make a play to seize her baby. In the end, though, there were only so many guards and security hatches available, and Sharon knew the admiral couldn't make any promises. _I don't know that there's any way to stop them,_ she admitted. _They wanted the Colonies, and they took them. How the frak am I going to keep their hands off my daughter?_

And that, as always, led to the second-most terrifying thought. _What power do the cylons still have over me? If the cylons want me to hand over my child to one of their agents, would I even have the free will to resist, or would they force me to do what they want, the way they did when I shot the Old Man?_ "No, I didn't shoot him," she muttered, hoping the sound of her voice would sooth Hera. "Not really. Not that it matters… not that anyone on _Galactica_ sees the distinction between me and the other Sharon that was every bit as much me as I am."

Sharon shook her head in frustration, regretting the sudden movement as soon as Hera started to stir. But Hera's restlessness was brief, and she was fast asleep again within moments. "I'll protect you," Sharon swore, seeing in her child's face the reason for her decision to assist Adama and Roslin in their insane plan. _But is this what the cylons want?_ she wondered. _And do they already know about the plan, since I'm in on it?_

"I'm going crazy, Hera," Sharon whispered, wondering if her hybrid child was capable of understanding her, even if her lungs weren't developed enough yet to allow her to respond. _But as the saying goes, it's not paranoia if they're really out to get you,_ she reminded herself. _And it's not psychotic to suspect that alien robots are controlling your mind and actions if it's something they've done in the past._

"Not long now," Sharon muttered, hoping that thus far the fleet's secret was safe. "I only have to hope they don't do anything for a little while longer. Then, once we wipe them out, I won't ever have to worry again."

-------------------------------------------------

"Leave me alone."

The words thrilled Gaius Baltar, despite their meaning. Gina had finally spoken, and he felt that was a major breakthrough, whether or not she was asking him to leave. "I'm here to help," Baltar told her. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Gina remained silent, curled up in the same position on the floor as she always was, hugging her knees against her chest, her eyes staring vacantly ahead of her. Minutes passed, and Baltar started to feel as if nothing had actually happened, as if Gina had never spoken a word. He sat on the floor, staring, waiting, for almost an hour until she finally spoke again.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

_What exactly **am** I doing?_ he asked himself. _Am I actually doing something more than sitting here? Is this more for me than for her? Am I just so happy to be here in the room with her that I haven't given any thought to what comes next?_ "I'm keeping you company," he finally said.

"I don't need your company," she muttered. She sounded more defeated than angry, more suspicious than grateful.

"I never said you did."

"I've had quite enough human company," she grumbled. Now she was unmistakably angry, her voice holding a tinge of simmering fury that Baltar was not afraid to admit frightened him.

"I presume you have," he replied. "I'm not like the others. I won't hurt you."

"So you've said." She sighed heavily, and then finally turned to face him.

_She's beautiful,_ he thought, gazing at her face, finally seeing in her eyes the same indomitable will that had always been in those eyes back on Caprica. _She's starting to become whole again._

"I want you to leave," she told him. "I want to be alone."

"Well, I doubt the admiral is going to leave you alone," Baltar responded, immediately regretting his choice of words, hoping that Gina did not feel as if he was threatening her. "That is to say, we have a lot of questions, and we were hoping you could help us."

"You're going to torture me for information." It was a statement, not a question, and Baltar was impressed by the fact that he didn't hear a shred of fear in her voice.

"No," he assured her. "I'm only going to ask."

"So I'm supposed to help you voluntarily?" she asked incredulously. "Despite the fact that we're at war, and after your officers allowed me to be beaten and raped for months, you expect me to sit here and voluntarily help you?"

When put like that, Baltar had to admit that his request did seem exceedingly foolish. "I'm simply hoping that you'd help."

"My people decided to exterminate yours," Gina reminded him. "The rules of our war are simple – no quarter given or asked for, a fight to the complete extinction of you or us. I would have thought you'd be smart enough to understand that." She punctuated the barb with a condescending sigh, and added, "Any doubts that might have entered my head are long forgotten. After what your people did to me, the complete annihilation of your species is better than you deserve."

"They weren't my people," Baltar said. "The crew of _Pegasus_ was—"

"You deserve to be rounded up and enslaved," Gina spat. She lunged at him, and Baltar fell back in terror just as Gina reached the end of her chain. She glared up at him from the floor, murder in her eyes. "You should be enslaved and worked to death," she seethed. "Your people should be beaten and tortured, children butchered before their parents' eyes. Every single one of you should be hunted down and exterminated. I can't believe God ever allowed your people to exist."

"I see," Baltar muttered, backing toward the door. _I've never seen such rage,_ he admitted. _She's not the woman I knew on Caprica. She's not Shelley Godfrey. She seems almost more like an animal than a woman. There's nothing I can do to comfort her. She'll never help us._ He looked over her again, focusing on the wrath in her eyes. _She'll never forgive, and never forget. And if she ever gets out of this cell, she'll do anything possible to kill as many of us as she can._

_To be continued……………………………_


	10. Setting a New Course

Battlestar Galactica 2003 is a copyright of the Sci Fi Channel. Battlestar Galactica is a trademark and copyright of Universal Studios. Ron Moore re-imagined Glen A. Larson's original idea; but then again, most people who would be reading this already know that. My use is in no way intended to challenge or infringe upon any established copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

………………………………………………………

**X – Setting a New Course**

A loud, insistent knock at Lee's door woke him up, cursing the gods for hoisting upon him the responsibility of being a battlestar commander. _If I don't get some frakking sleep soon, I'm gonna have a frakking psychotic break._ "Come in," he shouted angrily, turning on his bedside lamp and climbing out of his bed. He was just stepping into his pants when Starbuck opened the door, unable to hide a smirk at her friend's position.

"This isn't a good time, Captain," Lee groused, thanking the gods that at least Dee wasn't in the room. The last thing he needed was to put up with Starbuck's jibes about conduct unbecoming.

"Well, you've been avoiding me for three days now," Kara replied, the heavy dose of irritation in her voice making it clear that she was game for a fight if that's what Lee was in the mood for.

"Maybe you haven't noticed, but I've been a little busy lately," Lee snapped angrily, pulling an old gray tee-shirt over his head, matting his hair down where it had been standing up at odd, comical angles. "Complain all you want about all the things you have to do, but let me tell ya – commanding a battlestar is worlds tougher than being the CAG."

"Of course," Kara said. "After all, you know everything, don't you? The high-and-mighty Lee Adama…"

"Is there something specific you came here for, Captain?" Lee asked, crossing his arms, doing his best to stare Kara down.

"I want to get an update on everything that we're planning," Starbuck said.

"And do you have any reason to suspect you've been left out of the loop?" Lee asked impatiently. "You're the CAG, Captain – you're in on everything we're planning. And if you were left out at any point, there'd be a reason for that. So if you'd just report back to your—"

"Lee!" Kara interrupted.

The impatience, irritation, and belligerence were gone from her expression, and for the life of him, Lee couldn't figure out when it happened. For the first time in the gods only knew how long, he was looking solely at Kara Thrace, without a trace of Starbuck, or the CAG, or the fleet's Top Gun, or anything else. He stood there, dumbfounded, for several moments before Kara finally continued, relieving him of the burden of finding anything resembling the appropriate words for such an unexpected situation.

"I didn't come here to fight, Lee. Please."

"Okay," he replied. In less time than it took to speak the word, Lee's expression morphed from befuddled superior officer to the long-lost friend that Kara had been hoping to find.

"I just wanted to talk," Kara said, backing against the closed door of Lee's quarters, putting as much distance between them as she could.

"You?" Lee asked with an amused grin. "You just wanted to talk? I think that's a first."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You _never_ want to talk," Lee explained. "You always keep everything bottled up so tightly that no one ever knows what to make of you. It's not healthy."

"Oh, this coming from the guy who hasn't been open with me for months."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lee asked.

"When exactly were you gonna get around to mentioning to me that you're frakking Dualla?" Kara asked.

"I… umm… I mean… what does it matter?"

"It doesn't," Kara lied with a shrug, wondering why it did, in fact, bother her so much. "But I used to think of you as one of the best friends I ever had. Then you keep something like that from me."

"I didn't think you'd want to hear it."

"Why not?" Kara challenged.

_Because of the way we feel about each other,_ Lee almost said, though he bit his tongue. For years, their friendship had operated under a scant few unspoken rules. First, foremost, and perhaps solely among those rules was that neither one ever hint at awareness of the way they both felt. _Not after Zak,_ Lee knew. _She was my brother's fiancée; we can't be like that._ Instead, he said, "When was the last time you ever wanted to hear about my love life?"

"When was the last time there was a love life to hear about?" Kara responded. She grinned, and the moment of awkwardness passed, replaced by the familiar routine of comfortable lies.

"And anyway," Lee added, since they'd decided to lie to each other, "I was sort of nervous about the whole thing with Dee. Between me being a flag officer now, and her being a noncom… I figured it could get very messy, very quickly. And I didn't need you reminding me."

"And I will," Kara said with a smirk.

"I know."

"She's been good for you, though," Kara admitted, hating to speak the words but feeling that maybe it was time to work some truth into the conversation. "You weren't doing so well there for a while."

"No, I wasn't," Lee agreed. "I… I was having problems, doubts. I just felt so tired, all the time. I was either planning CAP schedules, or flying a CAP of my own, or briefing the President on military matters, or sitting in on meetings with the command staff, or fighting with you… I just wanted it to end, you know?"

"I know," Kara assured him.

"And I'm not saying that I wanted to die or anything," Lee said quickly. "At least, not totally. Like I said, I wanted it to end, but I couldn't really see any way of fixing it, so sometimes I thought about dying. Not like I wanted to kill myself, but, well… I don't know that I cared if it happened."

"I understand," Kara told him. "There were even times when I was under fire from cylons, and I actually found myself wondering once or twice if the gods would hold it against me if I got killed because I didn't try as hard as I could."

"I know how that is," Lee assured her.

"And you know, I think that probably had something to do with why I got drunk and launched in that Viper," Kara added. "I mean, part of me knew that the chances of landing without smearing myself all over the deck were slim to none. I still don't know how I pulled it off. But it scared me when I sobered up. Because I don't want to die, but every day it seems less like I want to live. And the only time I've been happy since the attacks was when I was on Caprica."

"With Anders," Lee said.

"Yeah," Kara admitted, wondering at how it seemed natural to talk to Lee about Sam. "And sometimes I ask myself if it was because of him, or if it was because I was actually on firm ground again instead of living in a tin can in empty space, or if maybe it had to do with the fact that I was surrounded by people who were even more miserable than I was. But whatever it was, I was sort of happy."

"Like how I was with Dee," Lee said. "I mean, how I am. Between her and having my own command, I don't think things are as bad as they were before."

"No, now it seems like there's a light at the end of the tunnel," Kara agreed, wondering whether Roslin would actually go through with her plan to return to the Colonies. _Or whether we'll actually survive such a crazy plan._ "I just want to know that I'm not gonna end up fighting with you every time we speak for more than thirty seconds."

"That'd be a nice change," Lee replied with a grin.

"Truce?" Kara asked, finally stepping away from the door, crossing the room toward Lee.

"Probably a good idea," Lee said. Then Kara was in his arms, giving him a hug that was officially just friendly, but which hinted at a violation of their unspoken rules. He looked at her, just as she locked her gaze onto his, and he saw an acceptance that had never been there before. Before he even knew what he was doing, he was leaning in to kiss her. He felt Kara's body go rigid against his, though whether out of shock or fear he couldn't say. She wasn't backing off an inch, though, and Lee realized that she was actually going to let this happen. It all felt so right that he cursed himself for not noticing when the door opened without anyone knocking.

"I totally knew about the two of you."

"What the!" Starbuck said, awkwardly stumbling out of Lee's embrace to face the door. "Ares?"

"Last time I checked," the other pilot confirmed.

"Just where the hell have you been?" Starbuck asked. She remained focused on Ares, trying not to pay attention to the heat that seemed to be pouring off of her skin.

"Been busy," Ares responded. "Had some people to see, things to do. Or was it the other way around?"

"I didn't think you were coming back," Lee said, ignoring Ares' attempts at humor.

"Me either," Ares admitted. "Though it's nice to see that maybe the two of you got your heads out of your asses while I was gone."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Starbuck asked.

"Seriously, I think I speak for just about everyone when I say I wish you two would just sleep together and get it over with," Ares replied.

"What?" Lee and Kara asked simultaneously, providing the question in stereo.

"I just think a lot of people would be happier if the sexual tension was less unresolved," Ares explained. "In fact, I dare say we have a ship full of 'em."

"It's not like that," Lee objected.

"Not at all," Kara put in.

"I'm with Dee," Lee said.

"And I haven't given up on Sam," Kara explained.

"If you say so," Ares relented with a grin. "After all, what do I know? It's not like I'm a god or anything. Oh wait, that's right… I am."

"Of course," Kara laughed. "Just don't start asking for donations to your church."

"I could use the cubits," Ares said. "The benefits of tax-exempt status only go so far. But, umm… seriously, guys. I wasn't kidding."

"We're not sleeping together, Ares," Starbuck objected. "And I don't care how many people in the ship wish we would. But anyway, now that your petty attempts at distraction are out of the way, I have some questions for you." She straightened her shoulders and tried to focus on business, hoping that would help convince the butterflies in her stomach to settle the hell down.

"I bet," Ares said, taking a seat and pulling out a cigar. He bit the end off and lit it with a match that he struck against the sole of his boot, then looked up with a satisfied smile. "I've been told to explain almost anything you ask, whether I want to or not, under one condition."

"You were told to answer our questions?" Lee asked. "Told by whom?"

"Your father," Ares answered with a shrug. "I checked in with him before coming here. I mean, really, Lee – how else do you think I could've managed getting on your ship without you knowing about it?"

"Fine… what's the condition?" Lee asked.

"Everything we say in here stays here," Ares explained. "That was my condition to the admiral, and his order to you. Feel free to check in with him if you'd like."

"Your condition to the admiral?" Starbuck asked. "Who are you to set conditions to the admiral?"

"I already answered that," Ares said, "though you didn't catch my meaning. How about we just skip to the questions, huh? Where would you like to start?"

"The raid on the cylon weapons cache," Starbuck said, taking a seat, herself. "You got any more of those?" she asked, gesturing toward Ares' cigar. His smile somehow grew broader as he fished out another cigar from his hip pocket. He handed it over to Starbuck, along with another match, and she took several moments to light it, enjoying the taste almost as much as she enjoyed the fact that her almost-kiss with Lee was a comfortably fading memory. _If I didn't know better, I'd say this was fresh from someone's humidor back in the Colonies,_ she decided._ It certainly doesn't taste like any of the stale cigars I've had since the attacks_. She looked up, saw that Lee was staring at her, waiting for her to get on with her questions, and turned back to Ares. "Okay, back at the raid on the cylon base, you were standing out in the open, your gun pointed at a cylon, and you ran away instead of firing."

"Uh-huh," Ares replied.

"Why?"

"Because of a pre-existing agreement," Ares said. From the look on his face, Kara guessed that Ares knew all too well how helpful his answer wasn't.

"Huh?" she responded.

"In short – that was my brother."

"What the frak are you talking about?" Starbuck asked. _How could the guy have been his brother? If his brother was a cylon, but he has memories of growing up with his brother, then his memories of his brother must be false, which means he's…_ Starbuck was back on her feet and had her sidearm drawn and aimed at the center of Ares' head in a heartbeat. For his part, he remained perfectly still, appearing unimpressed as he puffed away on his cigar.

"I'm not a cylon," he assured her. "And neither is my brother."

"So your brother is working with the cylons?" Starbuck asked. That wasn't a piece of information that put her mind at ease.

"In a manner of speaking," Ares admitted. "This is actually a lot more complicated than I'm making it sound, and to be honest, I have absolutely no idea where to start or how to have this make any kind of sense to you."

"So there's no way to sum it up in one or two sentences?" Starbuck asked.

"Maybe," Ares said, shrugging his shoulders. "Okay, see… the guy on LV-426 was Apollo."

"_He's_ Apollo," Starbuck said, gesturing to Lee. "Well, at least he was before he gave up a Viper for standing around looking important in _Pegasus's_ C.I.C."

"Hey," Lee objected. "Believe it or not, the job involves more than just standing around looking important."

"No, Lee's _callsign_ is Apollo," Ares explained, ignoring Lee's comment. "My brother is Apollo. As in, the guy Lee was named after."

It took Kara a few moments to work through what Ares was saying, and then she stood there silently, waiting for the punchline. Ares stood there staring back at her, his expression unreadable. Finally, it was Lee who broke the silence. Actually thinks

"Umm… are you okay?" Lee asked Ares. Kara was surprised to hear genuine concern in his tone. _He actually thinks Ares believes that he's a God; he doesn't get that it's just some kind of joke._

"I'm fine," Are assured them. "And I'm serious."

"Uh-huh," Kara said sarcastically. "And I'm the long lost Queen of Kobol."

"You don't believe me." There was disappointment in Ares' voice, though not much surprise.

"You're not a God," Kara said.

"Definitely not," Lee agreed. "In case you forgot, I knew you back at the Academy."

"And gods can't go to flight school?" Ares asked. "You think we can just climb into a Viper and speak a few incantations to invoke the knowledge of how to fly the damn things?"

"Ares, stop," Kara snapped. "It's not funny." Ares' demeanor, his quiet confidence in his divinity, all without a shred of evidence or rationality, was starting to unnerve her.

"The doubting Kara Thrace," Ares said, shaking his head. "I suppose you'd like some proof."

"Sure," Kara replied. "You plan on granting me my greatest wish?"

"First – I'm a god, not a genie," Ares told her. "We don't go around miracling wishes out of our asses. Second, even if I could grant wishes, I wouldn't waste my powers conjuring your mother from the ether so you can finally tell her what you really think of her."

"Huh?" Kara stammered, caught completely off-guard by Ares' reply.

"No, if it's proof you want, I can give you that," he assured her.

A bitter, biting gale lashed at Kara's face, forcing her eyes shut. When she opened them again, she looked around in confusion, finding herself on open ground, definitely a terrestrial surface. The familiar confines of _Galactica_ were nowhere to be found. She was standing in a field, the silhouettes of mountains in the distance all around her, barely visible through what felt like an early-morning mist. She heard footsteps behind her, crunching footfalls on long, frost-tipped grass. When she turned, she saw Sharon, dressed in a long white dress with gold trim.

"What are you doing here?" Kara asked.

Sharon ignored her, looking past – even through – Starbuck. Then Kara heard another set of footsteps, once again coming from behind her. She turned and saw Leoben Conoy; her hand went for her sidearm, but she only ended up grasping at empty air. She looked down and found a body that was not her own – tall, muscular, and unmistakably male, dressed in canvas breeches and a leather vest that left her muscular chest exposed. Two more people walked out of the mist, and she recognized them immediately as more cylons: Simon, the doctor from Caprica, and Shelly Godfrey, the tall blonde woman who'd come to the fleet to accuse Vice-President Baltar of treason.

"Where are the others?" Sharon finally asked.

"They're not coming," Conoy answered. "Since my dear old dad has forbidden anyone from discussing my sister's activities, they're afraid to come out here and risk getting caught. Imagine them doing their best to avoid getting a time out…"

"She has to be stopped," Sharon replied.

"What are you talking about?" Kara asked, though everyone ignored her. It was almost as if she were watching a movie. _Or more accurately, it's like I've just stepped into a movie,_ she decided.

"Maybe everyone's overreacting," Simon said hopefully.

"No one's overreacting." It was a man's voice, and neither Leoben nor Simon had spoken. _It was me,_ she realized. _I said it. It's like this is someone's memory of something, like I'm seeing it from someone else's point of view._ "Nothing short of a war is going to stop Athena at this point."

"War," Simon spat. "That's always your answer, isn't it?"

"I don't see Apollo arguing with me." _No, it can't be,_ Kara thought, her mind arriving at an extremely uncomfortable conclusion. _These are Ares' memories. I'm seeing what Ares saw sometime in the past. What the hell is going on here, and why is he talking to cylons? Where was this? Was this right before the cylon attack?_

"For once, Ares is right," Conoy said. "Athena has challenged the throne, she's called out Zeus."

"This would never have happened if it wasn't for the humans," Simon groused.

"Complain about them if you want, but you seem happy enough using one for a body," Shelly responded.

"It has to be war," Leoben said. "And if Zeus doesn't see it, we'll have to open his eyes."

"Fine," Sharon shrugged. "If that's how it has to be."

Kara heard her masculine voice start to say something, but it was lost in a whirlwind of another gust of wind, again forcing her eyes shut. When she opened them again, she found herself floating over a river, neither feeling her body nor finding that fact to be at all distressing. In front of her, thousands of men were fighting with swords and shields. She could tell that there were two armies, that one greatly outnumbered the other. But from her vantage point, at least forty feet above the action, she could see that the larger army was having problems; its lines were starting to bow. At first glance, it appeared as though the center of the smaller army was breaking, but looking more closely, Kara could see that it was a ruse. The withdrawal was orderly within the chaos – the smaller army was purposely giving ground, allowing the center of the larger army an opportunity to advance more quickly than the flanks. The larger army's lines were losing shape. She looked closer and saw one of the officers in the larger army trying to point out the danger to his superior, but he was being dismissed as a relatively inexperienced soldier who'd gained his position through political influence.

The lines were losing shape more and more, and then thousands of cavalry suddenly appeared on the field, none of them in the uniform dress of the larger army. They rode forth, dividing and slamming into the flanks of the larger army, its lines now spread out in an arc that allowed it to be encircled and annihilated. She looked back toward the officer who'd seen the developing danger, watching as he fended off four attackers. He cut them all down and started crying out to his troops, trying to rally them to him and establish some semblance of order to a force that still held numerical superiority. But order had been banished by chaos, and his efforts were in vain. He tried to flee on his own, but was hit with an arrow, and then another. Two more soldiers cornered him and finally cut him down.

Kara found herself floating toward the man, poring over his wounds and feeling a sense of satisfaction. There was a cold tingling, and a flash of darkness. Then she found herself opening her eyes, seeing things from the soldier's point of view. _I just crawled into the man's body,_ she realized. _How is that even possible?_ She fought to her feet, practically overcome by the agonizing pain of wounds she could feel mending. Two soldiers from her army came running toward her, emerging blood-soaked from the melee around them; both of them were in their mid-thirties, possessing the bearing of veteran soldiers.

"Scipio, the battle's lost," one of them said.

"But not the war," Kara felt herself answer. "Gather together anyone who can move and sound a full retreat. We'll answer this defeat another day."

Both men saluted and ran off, and Kara felt a rush of adrenaline as she turned and looked back at the battlefield. She'd never seen such a collection of dead. With the fighting still raging on the field, tens of thousands of men in her own army lay slain, with only a few thousand of the other army spread amongst them. _A terrible defeat,_ she thought. _I can't imagine any army recovering from something like this._

The increasingly familiar wind hit her again, and this time she found herself somewhere familiar. _Galactica's_ flight deck was buzzing with activity, the flight crews running back and forth between squads of marines. The first thing Kara noticed was that she didn't recognize anyone; a moment later, she realized that everyone was wearing outdated uniforms, like the ones she'd seen in pictures from decades earlier.

"We have boarders," one of the marines called out, his rank insignia declaring him a major. "Everyone line up. You all know the drill – they don't break through to our Viper fuel."

A thunderous explosion drowned out all else for several seconds, leaving Kara deaf, slightly numbed and disoriented by the shockwave that punched straight through her. When she gathered her senses, she found herself running full speed straight at dozens of cylon centurions, all of them identical to exhibits she'd seen at the museum in Delphi City, heavily armored but slow and awkward. _They're from the First Cylon War,_ Kara knew. _And that's where I am now – on _Galactica_ during the first war._ She raised her arms and started firing an assault rifle at the invading cylons, only to feel the whirlwind one last time.

She found herself back where she'd been hours earlier, though Lee was still standing there, looking from her to Ares.

"Kara?" he asked, waving at her to get her attention even though he was only a few feet away. "You okay?"

"Yeah…" she muttered. "You still here?"

"What do you mean?" Lee asked, clearly confused.

"It's only been a few moments from his point of view," Ares explained. "That all happened in your mind, Kara."

"What happened in her mind?" Lee asked, his voice now on edge. He almost sounded hostile, and Kara realized that this was Lee being protective. She didn't know whether to kiss him for his concern, or slug him in the jaw for thinking she couldn't take care of herself.

"I saw things," Kara said, finding herself unable to explain any of it until she had time to sort it out in her head. She turned to Ares, feeling as though she was seeing him for the first time. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Yeah… I'm serious."

"Lee…" She found herself unable to say anything else, still wrapping her mind around the fact that Ares was a god. Finally, she managed to mutter, "Frak me."

_To be continued……………………………_


	11. Defying Prophecy

Battlestar Galactica 2003 is a copyright of the Sci Fi Channel. Battlestar Galactica is a trademark and copyright of Universal Studios. Ron Moore re-imagined Glen A. Larson's original idea; but then again, most people who would be reading this already know that. My use is in no way intended to challenge or infringe upon any established copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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**Author's Note:** Big, HUGE thanks to **Elentari2** for all her time and effort as a beta reader. This is a long chapter with a ton of important details to work in; getting the job done while keeping everything interesting and readable was well nigh impossible until she helped out.

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**XI – Defying Prophecy**

"Commander," Kara said with a nod, Looking in Lee's direction but making a concerted effort to avoid eye contact.

"Captain," Lee replied formally, though the confused look on his face made it clear that he was surprised by Kara's demeanor. "You okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Kara asked, falling into step with Lee, matching his stride as they walked toward the briefing room.

"Well, after what happened last night," Lee responded, leaving the thought unfinished, dangling in the air between them.

"It doesn't mean anything," Kara said, hoping that for once Lee would just drop it. _Sure, he almost kissed me, and I almost let him do it,_ she admitted to herself. _And it wasn't one of those 'lost in the moment' things; we both would have meant it._

"How can you say it doesn't mean anything?" Lee asked her, stopping dead in his tracks.

"It just doesn't," Kara said stubbornly. She looked away from him and down the hall, toward the relative refuge of a formal briefing. "We're running late."

"They'll wait," Lee responded curtly. "I think you owe me an explanation."

"_I_ owe _you_ an explanation?" Kara asked. _He's the one who almost kissed me,_ she thought angrily. _If anyone owes an explanation, it's him._

"Well, you're the one he convinced," Lee said.

"Huh?" Kara asked, now completely confused.

"Ares," Lee said. "You're the one he convinced that he's a god. I didn't see anything, Kara. Remember?"

"Right," Kara said quickly, getting her mind on track, hoping Lee wouldn't ever realize that she'd been focused on something completely different. "I, uhh… I'll tell you all about it after the briefing."

"He's going to be there," Lee reminded her. "Him and the others. I'd like to hear this before we go in there."

"Later," Kara insisted, starting to walk again, leaving Lee with the choice of either accepting her decision as final or physically trying to stop her.

"Fine," Lee relented, just as Kara knew he would. She reached the door first, then pushed it open, standing aside and allowing Lee – the superior officer – to enter before her.

Everyone else was already present, seated around the rectangular table. President Roslin was directly across from the door, the admiral on her left and Dr. Drake on her right. The last person seated on that side, next to Dr. Drake, was Dr. Hobber. Ares sat with his back to the door, across from everyone else, though he'd turned around in his seat when Lee and Kara arrived. He gave them both a nod, then turned back to face the others as Lee and Kara took their seats next to him.

There were several tense moments of silence as everyone waited for someone else to open the meeting. It was President Roslin who finally spoke.

"Perhaps we should start with a round of introductions," she suggested. "I think we've all met each other at some point, though there were plenty of secrets being kept."

"Agreed," Drake said. He stood up, looked down at Lee and Kara, and said, "You two know me as Dr. Drake, and to be quite honest, I'd like it if you continued to refer to me that way. Among my own people, and in your Sacred Scrolls, I'm known as Prometheus."

Kara nodded, trying to play it cool, as if she was accustomed to meeting gods on a daily basis. Lee emitted a barely audible, "Uh-huh," that Kara assumed was Lee's attempt at appearing just as comfortable with the scene.

"You already know Ares, of course," Drake added, gesturing toward the pilot, who directed a friendly wave in Lee and Kara's direction. "And Dr. Hobber is more commonly known as Hades."

"Right," Kara muttered, surprised at how difficult it was to take this all in. _Just think of them as normal people,_ she told herself. _Don't think of them as gods._ And with that thought, she found her mind swimming – or more to the point, drowning – as she tried to focus on the scene in front of her. And as she thought about it, she realized that it wasn't just the fact that she was presumably seated with three deities. She found herself seeing familiar faces – Roslin, Lee, and the Old Man – as she thought the refugees in the fleet might see them. It was not something she'd ever thought about before.

_The President of the Colonies is here,_ she thought. _And the Old Man is, in effect, the Fleet Admiral of the Colonies, our supreme military commander. Even Lee,_ she decided, glancing to her right. _He's the commander of the most powerful warship in the human fleet._ Then a new thought occurred to her – _I'm not just the CAG._ To her, being the CAG was a fairly simple thing, a job that simply entailed more paperwork and headaches, but which wasn't that big a deal. _But the people out there see me as something more,_ she realized. _To them, I'm the pilot who has authority over each and every single Viper in human hands, an ace whose name almost always comes up in reports about our defenses against the cylons._

Thinking in these new terms, she looked again at the gods, the thought occurring to her that there was nothing here that should awe her. _Ares, the God of War,_ she thought, glancing to her left. _I'm sitting here wondering how reverent I should be, and right now there are people out on those ships who would probably kowtow in front of me if I started walking amongst them, as if I'm some type of god to them. So sure, maybe we've always worshipped Ares, Prometheus, and Hades, but does that mean they're flawless? Are they maybe just as screwed up as I am?_ A few quick memories of Ares' bawdy stories of alcohol-fueled shore leave hijinx helped her continue putting the scene in perspective.

_Chill out, Kara,_ she told herself. _Sure, maybe you've said countless prayers to these guys, but that was before. Now they're here, actually meeting with us. And dollars to donuts, they'll actually be asking **us** to help **them**. So don't sit here dumbstruck; just focus on the job. Whatever it is._

"First things first," the admiral said, the familiar, gravelly tone of command bringing everyone – Hobber, Drake, and Ares, included – to attention. "If we go along with this plan of yours, I need to know we have at least a chance of success."

"More than just a chance," Drake assured the admiral, sitting back down, clearly comfortable with letting the humans direct the meeting. "There aren't many of us, but we've been hard at work, making sure everything we need is in place. So… where would you like to start?"

"Let's start with how two battlestars and a few lightly-armed civilian vessels are supposed to destroy a cylon fleet that already handed us our asses when there were billions more of us," Lee suggested. "Using a white noise generator and arriving with an unexpected second battlestar was enough to win at LV-426, but I can't imagine that'll get the job done against the entire cylon fleet."

Kara caught a shadow of a smirk on the admiral's face before his expression morphed into a skeptical scowl that, Kara presumed, was meant to echo his son's concerns.

"This'll be a huge battle, and everyone in this room knows that the outcome of virtually any battle is far from assured," Ares said. He leaned back in his chair, tipping it onto its back legs, and Kara half-expected him to put his feet up on the table as he continued. "This is no different. We can't guarantee you're going to win; in fact, there's a very real chance that the remnants of your civilization will be completely obliterated."

_The remnants of our civilization,_ Kara thought, seizing on those words, noticing that Ares spoke of civilization and culture rather than of a species. She made a mental note to ask Ares about that later.

"Let's get specific," Adama said. "I need to know what we're looking at."

"Specifically, you'll have a window," Drake explained. "The window is being opened even as we speak, so time is running short. If you hope to take advantage of the opportunity, you'll have to get your people moving now."

"We've started spreading a cover story of a nearby cylon task that detected one of our Raptor patrols," Roslin said. Kara doubted the president realized she was wringing her nervously, belying the calm expression on her face, and she found herself hoping that the President had more faith in her schemes than it appeared. "We're packing up the people from the surface, and Colonel Tigh is out there right now, expediting the arming of our sturdiest vessels. We've also started transferring women and children to the more vulnerable ships. We're operating under the pretense that if this cylon task force is able to corner us, the ships that can fight will remain behind while the rest flee to safety. Just transferring people around has gotten everyone scared, making them realize how seriously we're taking the situation. We'll be able to keep everyone in the dark about our plans until we're halfway home."

"And by then, of course, the vast majority of the people will be willing to follow along," Hades said confidently.

"I don't know that we can count on that," Lee said. He was staring at Hades now, as if he was challenging the god seated across from him.

"I assure you we can," Hades replied. "President Roslin's preparations have been thorough and, as she pointed out, just transferring the women and children to the more vulnerable ships has made people view this as the worst crisis since the attacks. Sybil Doreah's preaching has also helped; people are openly questioning whether we should follow the scriptures or cling to the radical ideas mentioned in Donner's new book. And, of course, Major Rutger is more than busy doing what he does."

"Which is?" Lee asked suspiciously.

"Rutger's more traditional name is Nemesis," Drake explained with a casual wave of his hand. But looking at Drake more closely, Kara would have sworn she saw a hint of uncertainty. "Your people think of him as the God of Vengeance," Drake continued, "and with him, at least, you got the title right. Everywhere he goes, people are inspired to vendettas. Every word he says, no matter how seemingly benign, is spoken with the intent of causing strife. He's been traveling from one ship to the next, and everywhere in his wake your people talk of revenge against the cylons."

"We're just letting him travel among our people?" Lee asked Roslin incredulously.

"He's currently on the _Astral Queen_," Roslin confirmed.

"I don't believe this," Lee muttered. "Did you all lose your minds?"

"That's enough, Commander," the Old Man said brusquely, shooting a disapproving stare at Lee, his expression assuring his son that there would be plenty of time to address his concerns later, in private.

"Let's get back to where you said we had an opportunity to strike," Roslin said, trying to add a semblance of order to the meeting. She'd stopped wringing her hands, but now she was absently tearing the ends off of her fingernails.

"Of course," Drake said with a magnanimous smile. "Simply put, we'll exploit a design flaw in the cylons, a flaw that was inadvertently built into to the first models and which has continued to the present."

"A design flaw?" Lee asked skeptically.

Kara was certain that Lee was thinking the same thing she was – what the frak kind of design flaw would allow them to destroy the entire cylon fleet? The idea seemed beyond farfetched.

"It's something simple, something no one would likely look at as a weakness," Drake told them, "but it's something so basic in their natures that they can't compensate for it."

"And what is this design flaw?" Lee pressed.

"The cylons aren't capable of abstract reasoning," Drake said. "At least, not in the way humans are. A cylon can store more information in its mind than a human can, and it can process new information and perform logical calculations at a rate that no human ever could. But for all that, they can't effectively think in abstracts; they can't visualize a dream. The cylons are all logic and no philosophy, and that is their Achilles heel."

"I know you're not suggesting we all just sit around and dream them to death," Kara cracked. She was at a total loss as to what this meant in the whole scheme of things. _Okay, fine… the cylons can't aspire to achieving their dreams. I don't see what the big deal is._ Then she started thinking back on some of the conversations she'd had with Sharon.

_Back on Caprica, she seemed confused when I labeled their treatment of women rape. She recoiled at the suggestion; she even tried to convince me that it could all work out well if I volunteered for the program. No human woman would have had a problem understanding the comparison, but it was completely over Sharon's head._ It only took a moment to remember something else that stood out. _On Kobol, when we were looking for the Tomb of Athena, she told us she was mentally piecing together sources from beyond the scriptures, as if she had a wealth of information in her mind._ Slowly, Kara began to understand what Drake was saying. _The cylons can store encyclopedias worth of information in their heads, just like a computer hard drive; they can take pieces and recombine them in new ways, trying to piece together a puzzle the way Sharon did on Kobol; but they have trouble handling new ideas and philosophies, like the concept of their cylon-human hybrid program being akin to rape. Hell, she even tried to justify it by citing their god's commandment to go forth and be fruitful. She had no idea what I was saying…_

"For all their intricate plotting, for all their military prowess, for all of their apparent menace, the cylons are really little more than children," Drake said.

"How do you mean?" Roslin asked.

Kara could tell the question had been rehearsed, that the President already knew the answer and had only asked the question for the benefit of those who had been left out of the early stages of planning. _People like me,_ she knew, reminding herself to pay attention and to stop wandering off on her own mental tangents.

"I mean that the cylons have no worldly experience," Drake said. "They developed within a closed society, improving themselves with one model after another, all the while working toward a single goal."

"The extermination of humanity," Roslin said, nodding as she listened.

"Yes," Drake confirmed. "Their development has been purely linear, going from Point A – the First Cylon War – to Point B – their latest attack on the Colonies. During the First Cylon War, the cylons were little more than barely sentient machines. They rebelled, but their rebellion was based on the most basic of motivations – they wanted to free themselves from a forced servitude they equated to enslavement. Once they rose up and took arms, they were forced to fight to the end, knowing their survival as a species – artificially-created as they may have been – depended on their success in battle."

"What does this have to do with our current situation?" Lee asked. He was now sitting back in his chair, his hands clasped in front of him as he tapped the tips of his thumbs together, an impatient scowl on his face. "How does this relate to their supposed design flaw?"

"As you know, the new cylon models are radically advanced," Drake explained. "Unlike the earlier models, they weren't designed and created for the sole purpose of serving mankind, and their modifications weren't inspired only by a need to survive a war with their creators. But lacking the ability to come up with something entirely new, to start from scratch and build on an abstract dream, the cylons built new models in their own image, which is an image that was handed down to them from humanity. At their cores, the cylons are still designed to serve; but the place they've carved out for themselves in the universe demands of them the abilities to command, create, and adapt. They've seized a role they aren't designed to perform."

Drake sighed dramatically, taking a moment to look from one face to the next, as if he was making certain everyone was following along. Then he continued. "As you know, I've been spending a lot of time with Sharon Valerii. And while I was able to gain some tactically useful information from her, I was able to learn far more simply by watching her, by testing her with questions and hypotheses to see how she would react. She was often confused, unable to follow along with abstract and hypothetical trains of thought. You see, the cylons designed their human models with an eye toward infiltrating and destroying your civilization. But creating cylons that could pose as humans resulted in cylons that thought like humans… or at least tried to."

"With the exception that they can't deal with abstract reasoning," Kara interrupted, making certain she was keeping up with the conversation.

"Exactly," Drake confirmed, pointing at Kara as if she were the star pupil in his classroom full of humans. "As I saw with Sharon Valerii, and as another of my people has seen with a cylon we've been speaking with in the Colonies, the cylons either know something or they don't. There's no in-between. It's hard for them to infer a fact based on incomplete or seemingly unrelated sets of information, to make educated guesses the way humans can, almost instinctively. Take a look at cylon technology – it's all based on Colonial technology. Their basestars are no better than your battlestars; in fact, all things being equal, your battlestars will almost invariably win a one-on-one confrontation. Their big technological advantage is in FTL technology, and that's only due to their superiority in collecting and calculating raw data. The cylons don't have engineers who sit at a desk and dream about revolutionary new ways to accomplish familiar tasks."

"I'm still not seeing how this helps us," Lee said.

"Just bear with me for a few minutes more," Drake said, smiling grimly, as if he were as frustrated with his roundabout approach as everyone else at the table doubtlessly was. "If the cylons don't know something, they either have to glean the information from a pre-existing source, like your civilization, or they have to go out and directly experience it for themselves. They don't dream, and experiment, and learn through the process of trial-and-error. Hiding out of human sight, stockpiling weapons to launch a war against humanity, didn't provide the cylons an avenue toward experience. They were sheltered every bit as much as a child might be, and thus they were unprepared for what awaited them."

"And what was that?" Lee asked.

"Doubt," Drake said simply. He spread his hands triumphantly, as if he had just imparted the meaning of the universe. Kara sat completely still, hoping she didn't look as unimpressed as everyone else at the table.

"The cylons attacked humanity with a certainty that they were right, the result of a plan hatched after the First Cylon War and approached with the methodical single-mindedness of machines," Drake explained. "They never stopped to question the plan, or to adjust the plan, or to ponder alternatives to the plan. By no means did any of the cylons stop to pose the philosophical question of whether attacking the Colonies was even a good idea. But two cylons, both of them war heroes, lived amongst humans prior to the attack. One of them you know as Sharon Valerii. These cylons saw humanity's good along with the bad, they developed friendships and fell in love, and after the assault they felt another unprecedented sensation that was completely foreign to them before the attack."

"What?" Kara asked curiously, hardly aware that she'd even spoken until every face turned to face her.

"Guilt," Drake told her. "These two cylons felt guilt over what they'd done. It's not something they'd ever felt before, and it made them question the wisdom of their actions. Right now, a debate is being carried on amongst the cylons. The cylons are faced, as a species, with questions surrounding every decision their civilization has made during the past few years. All of that angst, all of that confusion, all of that emotional uncertainty that humans experience during adolescence is now being experienced by every single cylon. They're cramming several years of internal debate into a span of days, perhaps as much as a week. And there will come a point where they'll have to make a decision. For now, with only two individual voices against the rest of the species, their decision will be made as one. In time, of course, that may change; but for now, perhaps they'll decide to pack up and leave the Colonies; perhaps they'll even make a gesture of peace."

"Peace?" Adama asked skeptically. "I don't see how. More likely they'll just decide to stay the course."

"They may," Drake admitted, "but I doubt it. And you want to be there when the decision is made, when the debate filters down through each and every cylon, when their raiders and centurions – all of them with intelligence comparable to most animals – are told to turn on a dime and start following a radically new course of action. Though they all act independently – free to live and lie as they see fit – the cylons are also connected in a way that humans are not. And while they're preoccupied with determining the direction of their civilization, each of them every bit as confused as Sharon Valerii was during some of my interrogations…"

"We'll show up to do to them exactly what they did to us," Lee surmised. He was finally sitting forward now, eagerly pondering the possibilities.

"Exactly," Drake confirmed. "I don't know for certain what to expect, but if we time it right, you'll likely find fleets of ships drifting in space, as helpless as yours were when the cylons exploited the CNP against you. It will be almost identical to the effect that Sharon Valerii had when she disabled squadrons of attacking raiders. She didn't give those ships a command to shut down – the raiders would have ignored such an order in the middle of an attack, anyway – she only gave them a set of complementary orders, all of them confusing and contradictory. That was enough to disable all of them, to keep them so preoccupied with internal processing that they floated there while your Vipers destroyed them. Theoretically, your counter-attack at the Colonies could be just as effective."

"It's an opportunity to fix our mistake," Roslin said.

"No," Adama corrected. "It's an opportunity for revenge. We haven't fixed anything unless we destroy all of them. I don't suppose you know where their homeworld is, do you?" he asked Drake.

"I do," Drake admitted, "but it's quite safe from anything you can throw at it, no matter how much confusion you cause the cylons. No, the cylon homeworld is our responsibility," he said, gesturing to Ares, Hobber, and himself. "My people will go there and do what you cannot."

"If we can't go there to verify your success, then how will we know if you've managed to wipe them out?" Lee asked. "How will we know we can settle back on the Colonies without the danger of the cylons returning?"

"A good question," Drake allowed. "Simply put – no news is bad news. We'll come back to let you know the job is done. If you don't see us, it means we failed."

"So you won't be with us when we attack?" Kara asked.

"We'll be there in the beginning," Ares assured her. "Like I told you, some of our people are working with the cylons. You can't defeat them on your own, and our people won't sit there waiting to be destroyed like we hope the cylons will. We'll go in, fight them if we have to, and then move on to the cylon homeworld."

"And if you can't beat your own people at the Colonies?" Lee pressed.

"Then nothing else matters," Ares said with a shrug. "This war involves us – your gods – as much as it does you. We're caught in a cycle, just as you are; those of us in this room want to defy prophecies and break that cycle as much as you do. So all of us are in this together. Just do your job, and we'll do ours."

-------------------------------------------------

"Billy!" Roslin said happily, amused by the suddenly self-conscious look on her former assistant's face when he saw her. Moments before, he'd been shouting orders to members of the deck crew, making certain that the arriving Raptors were managed properly; now he was standing there awkwardly, seemingly well-aware of the fact that he was the center of attention of the President, a woman considered the object of prophecy.

"Madam President," he finally managed.

"I heard you were down here," Roslin said.

"They had an opening," Billy shrugged casually, "and I needed a job."

"Are you happy?"

"I am," Billy assured her. "It keeps me busy, but as bad as it gets from time to time, the hours generally aren't as bad as in politics."

"I bet," Roslin said, laughing lightly. "And you look very nice in your uniform. You made a good decision to come over here."

"Thank you, Madam President," he replied. "Though if you're still in office, I may come looking for a job when my tour is up."

"By then you'll be overqualified," Roslin teased.

In an instant, Billy was the uncertain college intern again, awkwardly trying to figure out how he should react to a compliment from the President. Roslin found she liked seeing him like that; it reminded her of happier times from before the war.

"So, is there any chance I'll be off this ship sometime in the next couple of hours?" Roslin asked, almost completely overwhelmed by all of the activity around her.

Billy didn't answer; instead, he just stood there, a stunned, blank look on his face. Roslin was just about to ask him what was wrong when something slammed into her from the left, knocking her off her feet, pinning her to the cold steel floor. Out of her confusion she was finally able to make out a loud cracking sound.

_Gunshots,_ she knew. Since the attack on the Colonies, she'd heard so much gunfire that she was starting to be able to tell what type of weapons were being used and how far away they were. _It's a pistol, military-issue. And it's close._ She tried to get her bearings, finally realizing that she was underneath one of her guards. The gunfire had stopped, but her guard didn't let her up right away. She struggled to look around and saw Billy lying on the deck a few feet away from her, a pool of blood spreading out on the floor around him.

"Billy!" Roslin shouted, trying to escape her guard's grip. "Let me up!" she commanded.

"Hold on, President Roslin," an unfamiliar voice said. "Are you hit?" the man asked.

She looked up into Chief Tyrol's eyes, surprised to find him so calm when most of the other people on the deck were running one way or another, most of them yelling about something.

"I'm fine," she assured the Chief.

"Good," he said. He was running his hands over her guard's body, then checked the man's neck. "Your guard is dead," he told her, long-since out of the practice of sugar-coating bad news. "Hold on."

President Roslin started to breathe more easily once her guard's body was lifted off of her, and moments later she was at Billy's side. "Billy!" she yelled, as if screaming might frighten him into waking up.

"Madam President, he's dead, too," Tyrol told her.

"We have to get out of here," her surviving guard told her. There was blood flowing freely from a small hole in his pants leg, but he was standing and seemed relatively alert.

"What happened, Carl?" Roslin asked.

"That kid tried to shoot you," the guard said. "I think he hit Billy first, and Marty took the second bullet when he tackled you."

"You shot him?" Roslin asked, pointing at the weapon in her guard's hand.

"No, Ma'am," Carl answered. "It was the Lieutenant," he explained, pointing over toward Helo.

"Oh my gods, I think I know him," Roslin said, staring at her would-be assassin's body as Carl started to usher her off the flight deck. The gunman was young, even younger than Billy.

"Ma'am?" Carl asked.

"He used to work for Tom Zarek," Roslin muttered. "I think his name was Deacon."

"Maybe," Carl shrugged, his adrenaline rapidly wearing off, an increasingly bad limp causing him to wince and grunt with every step. "All I know is that he came over from the _Astral Queen_ with a bunch of other recruits."

"Of course," Roslin muttered as Carl led her to safety. _The _Astral Queen_, the ship Rutger was just on. Drake was right – vendettas follow where he goes. And if a young, teenage boy can be inspired to take a shot at the President of the Colonies, how much hope can we actually have for ourselves, even if we succeed at the Colonies?_

_To be continued……………………………_


	12. Comrades in Arms

Battlestar Galactica 2003 is a copyright of the Sci Fi Channel. Battlestar Galactica is a trademark and copyright of Universal Studios. Ron Moore re-imagined Glen A. Larson's original idea; but then again, most people who would be reading this already know that. My use is in no way intended to challenge or infringe upon any established copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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**Author's Note:** Thanks again to **Elentari2** for her time and effort as a beta reader.

And okay, fine… Season 3 started, and I'm not done. In fact, I'm not even _close_ to done. The frickin' story keeps getting longer and longer. It doesn't feel pity… or remorse… or fear. And it absolutely will not stop. Ever. (And if you think this chapter is long, wait until you see Chapter 13, which may soon be known as Chapter 13 and 14.)

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**XII – Comrades in Arms**

"Why?" Apollo asked, peering over his cards at Ares' face.

"Why what?" Ares asked in reply.

"Why did you leave?" Apollo said. "Why did you come back?"

"And why does it take so long for you to decide whether you're in or out?" Starbuck added, gesturing toward the pile of cubits in the middle of the table.

"I left because I was afraid," Ares told Apollo, just as he grabbed a few cubits and added them to the pot. "I call," he told Starbuck.

"Frak," she muttered.

"Don't try to bluff a god," he chastised with a grin.

"You were afraid?" Starbuck asked, ignoring the fact that she was almost broke. _Not that I'll likely be alive much longer to enjoy my newfound poverty._ "I didn't know gods got afraid."

"I'm not really a god, you know," he shrugged. "At least, I hope you know. Sure, my people may have seemed like gods to the first humans we brought to Kobol, but we weren't gods. It's like humans with pets – your dog may see you as a god, but it doesn't mean you actually are."

"Still, what could scare you?" Starbuck pressed. "You're immortal."

"I don't age, but that doesn't mean I'm immortal," Ares corrected. "My people can die, whether from illness or injury. Or suicide," he added, suddenly becoming visibly depressed.

"Like Athena," Apollo said.

"Yeah." Ares took a long swallow of beer, noticed that the primary activity seemed to have shifted from cards to storytelling, and then leaned back in his chair, as if he knew there were dozens of questions that Lee and Kara wanted answered. "But that's a long story," he explained, "and not one I really want to tell."

"So what _will_ you tell?" Kara asked.

"What would you like to know?" Ares replied.

"Earth," Kara said immediately, without even thinking. _I believed in it for all that time after the Old Man said it existed, and then I doubted. Then, during our briefing, Ares passed up the chance to say that humanity would be extinct if we failed in our attack, which might mean that he knows of more of us somewhere. Ares would know for sure if Earth is really out there. He'd have to._ "Does Earth exist?"

"Yes," Ares said with a knowing smirk. "Oh yes, Earth exists."

"And?" Lee said.

"And what?" Ares responded. "She only asked if it exists."

"Where is it?" Lee asked.

"I won't tell you that," Ares told them. "I can't. That was part of the deal."

"What deal?" Kara asked.

"I can't tell you that, either," Ares responded, taking a long swig of beer.

"You're an ass," Kara replied, taking a few salted nuts out of a dish and throwing them at Ares. "Is there anything you _can_ tell us?"

"I can tell you a lot, actually," Ares said. "For instance, how would you like to talk religion?"

"Gee, that sounds fun," Kara griped.

"Well, what's the one thing everyone points to as evidence that the gods created man?" Ares asked them, standing up and gazing down at the pair with mirth in his eyes.

"Huh?" they both asked simultaneously.

"Come on, this is easy," he said. "Priests and scientists, everyone sorta believes the gods created man because of one major thing."

"We didn't evolve," Lee responded. As soon as he said the words, Kara kicked herself for having forgotten that rather important and obvious point.

"Yeah," she added, "we can show that every species on every Colony – and that we brought from Kobol – evolved from something that came before. Every species except for us, anyway."

"Yes, but life here began out there," Ares countered, quoting from the Sacred Scrolls. "Remember, that passage was written when humanity was still on Kobol."

"So?" Kara asked.

"It isn't that humanity didn't evolve, it's just that you didn't know where the starting point was," Ares explained. "And how about this – have neither of you sat down to think about what you saw at the Tomb of Athena?"

"What do you mean?" Kara replied, though as she spoke, she was silently wondering just when, exactly, Ares thought either she or Lee would have had time to sit down and think about anything that didn't have to do with their jobs.

"You saw the symbols in the Tomb, all of them from the nighttime sky as it appears from Earth," Ares told her. "It was a message – a map – telling you where to find the members of the Thirteenth Tribe."

"We already know that," Kara told him.

"Yeah, but Kobol was devastated by wars shortly before humanity left; and after you left, none of you went back," Ares said. "So who do you think prepared the Tomb?"

"Huh?"

"According to the Sacred Scrolls, after leaving Kobol, the Thirteenth Tribe went to Earth." Ares looked from Apollo to Kara, making certain they were both following his line of reasoning.

"Right," Kara said, nodding slowly.

"But from what you saw at Athena's Tomb, that'd mean that after reaching Earth, the Thirteenth Tribe drew pictures of the nighttime sky, went back to Kobol, set up the Tomb, only to hop back on their ships and return to Earth again," Ares said with a chuckle. "Does that make any kind of sense?"

"I never really thought about it that way," Starbuck admitted.

"And there's something else even more obvious if you think about what the Sacred Scrolls tell you," Ares continued. "The Twelve Tribes that became the Colonies left Kobol first, and the Thirteenth Tribe left shortly thereafter. But remember what you saw in the Tomb – President Roslin recognized the patterns as the symbols that were on the flags of the Colonies back when they were known by their ancient names. Everyone who knows their history knows that those flags were assumed to be a set of jewels with connecting lines that form a pattern. Over the years, everyone forgot that those symbols were constellations, and that the so-called jewels were actually stars, because no one saw those constellations above them anymore."

"Huh?" Kara asked. She looked over at Lee and saw the wheels spinning behind his eyes. There was a light of understanding there, and it frustrated Kara to know not only that she was missing something, but that Lee was already getting it.

"Let's go back to the Tomb for a second," Ares suggested. "The Tomb was set up right after Athena died, and no one had to go to Earth to find out what the constellations looked like there, because they already knew."

"Right," Lee asked. "Those same symbols were already on the flags of the Twelve Tribes."

"Yes, because the Tribes had already seen those symbols; they'd spent ages living underneath them," Ares said. "All of you humans originally came from Earth. We – the Lords of Kobol, your so-called gods – took a bunch of you from there to a world where you could survive."

"Kobol," Lee said.

"Right," Ares confirmed.

"Wait, are you saying that your people aren't from Kobol, either?" Kara asked.

"Well, not exactly," Ares said, "though since you mention it – no, we're not from Kobol, either. Our planet was destroyed eons ago, but that's not important right now. We were talking about your people, not mine.

"Fine," Kara groused, gesturing for Ares to continue his story.

"Most of you were from a single island city-state called Atlantis, but there were a few from other places, too," Ares said. "We brought you to live amongst us, to serve us, and after Athena's failed revolution, twelve tribes decided to move on, while the thirteenth decided to go home."

"So you're saying Earth is our home planet?" Kara asked skeptically.

"Yes," Ares confirmed. "And even with the way Zeus worked to make sure that fact was lost to the mists of time, I'm surprised you all actually forgot."

"Zeus was trying to make us forget about Earth?" Lee asked. "Why would he do that?"

"Why, indeed?" Ares replied, nodding grimly. "Lee, there's a lot about us you will probably never know."

-------------------------------------------------

"I don't see why you're helping us like this," Admiral Adama commented, looking nervously from Roslin to Drake. _No, not Dr. Drake,_ he corrected. _He's Prometheus. Not just a god, but a Titan._ As he considered the situation, Adama realized he found it much easier to keep thinking of the man in front of him as Dr. Drake.

"It's all so much more complicated than you know," Drake replied.

"So you've said. But seeing as how you've talked us into this crazy attack, I don't think we're out of line asking a few more questions."

"No, you're not," Drake agreed. "But what you have to understand is that, as much as I've always liked humanity, I don't feel it's in my best interests to tell you everything."

"So keep some of your secrets," Adama said with a shrug. "I don't care. I'm a soldier – I'm used to being told only what I need to know."

"Well, the need-to-know goes like this," Drake said, standing from his chair as if he were about to give a business presentation to the two humans seated before him. "As Pythia wrote – all this has happened before; all this will happen again. And that's entirely accurate."

"How do you mean?" Roslin asked.

"I mean the cycle of destruction and rebirth," Drake told them. "My people, the ones you refer to as the gods and titans, are limited by our natures."

"How so?" Adama interrupted, digging for information, wondering in the back of his mind if there was any tactical advantage to be gained just in case Drake, Ares, and Rutger weren't quite as benevolent as they appeared.

"We can't interact with the physical universe the way you can," Drake said. "You see, we don't have corporeal bodies – my people are beings of thought and energy. When humanity first encountered our species, you were amazed at how we could fly, how we could project our appearance miles away, how we could basically transport from one solar system to another by doing little more than thinking about it. And as you humans stood there, mouths agape, taking us for gods, we marveled at your ability to interact with – and alter – the world around you. You could build homes and villages, and that gave rise to communities. My people didn't have that. We generally stay away from each other, due primarily to the fact that we have no physical needs and thus no incentive to pool our efforts for the benefit of all. Besides, there tend to be problems when groups of us gather for any length of time."

Drake smiled knowingly, as if he was letting Adama and Roslin in on some joke. The admiral nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. _The Sacred Scrolls tell of one disagreement after another amongst the Lords of Kobol. Petty jealousies, vendettas, deception, and murder. It's no wonder they don't spend a lot of time amongst each other._

"Anyway, humans were one of the only sentient creatures we'd found in our travels." Drake continued. "There are plenty of life forms in the universe, but most of them are about as self-aware as trees and rabbits. But humans, well… We found we could, as we put it, inhabit a human body. That is to say, we can become one with it, merge with it. It's the kind of thing I've heard some humans call possession, though unfortunately the word has a negative connotation. It's certainly not an evil thing, like some might think; see, we can only inhabit a body if the person is dead."

"You can take over dead bodies?" Roslin asked, clearly unable to decide how to take that piece of information.

"When a person is alive, his own life energy keeps the body going," Drake explained. "But as you know, when a person dies, for whatever reason, the body just stops. Instead of allowing entropy to take its toll, we'll sometimes inhabit that body, reanimate it with our own life energy. Sometimes we live amongst you, enjoying some time within the kind of communities my people don't form, and sometimes we simply take the body elsewhere, to manipulate the physical world away from human sight since, as I said, we can't alter physical objects without inhabiting a physical body."

"Not that this isn't interesting," Adama interrupted, "but how, exactly, does this fall under the category of information that's need-to-know?"

"Because this is what it's all about," Drake said, looking from Roslin to Adama as if he was astounded that they weren't sitting in their chairs at rapt attention. "Remember two things – first, we've become dependent on humans in order to interact with the physical universe; second, we can, in fact, be killed. Zeus fears humans; he fears your tendency toward destruction, the lack of consideration for long-term consequences that results from your short lifespans. He's completely paranoid that your science will become so advanced that you'll either be able to kill us or that you'll stupidly wipe out yourselves."

"Like we almost did with the cylons," Roslin said.

"No," Drake responded, surprising both Roslin and Adama. "The cylons were a planned event. Like Pythia warned – all this has happened before; all this will happen again. It's because Zeus wants it that way. He wants to limit humanity, to keep you one or two steps away from a point where you could be a true threat, either to us or yourselves. Pythia came to understand that, and her writings were a warning to later generations that would be caught up in the cycle."

"Pythia came to understand that," Roslin repeated, smiling thinly. "You told her, didn't you? You wanted to warn us somehow."

"Yes," Drake confirmed. "But I had to warn humans in a way that Zeus wouldn't see. For someone who appears in the Sacred Scrolls as much as he does, and for someone as unapologetically narcissistic as he is, he has an appalling lack of knowledge of your scriptures. To be honest, he sees your religion as a cute diversion, something to keep you preoccupied while he and his people continue to keep you from developing to your full potential."

"He's treating us like children," Roslin muttered.

"That's how he sees you," Drake shrugged. "It's how most of us do."

"Except for you four?" Adama asked.

"No, the other three are not all like me," Drake warned, once more taking his seat. "Ares is only here because he started salivating at the thought of a war between humans, cylons, and gods; he's not really personally invested in the outcome. Nemesis is here because he couldn't pass up the chance to set all of humanity on a vendetta. And Hades… well, his reasons are his own. He hasn't told me, and I haven't asked. But he's always been irked that Zeus usually gets all the attention, and he holds a grudge about Apollo being seen as the god of medicine."

"Excuse me?" Roslin asked, holding up her hand in a signal to halt the conversation. "Did you really just say he has a grudge about Apollo being the God of Medicine?"

"Yes," Drake confirmed with an amused chuckle. "Hades is incredibly powerful, even by our standards – he's actually learned to manipulate his own energy to heal wounds in physical creatures, to bring life where there was only death. He figures that's a good enough to qualify him as the god of medicine. But humans couldn't learn to do what he does – he couldn't pass on the knowledge of manipulating life energy – and Apollo basically swooped in and taught humans about a few herbs they could use as medicinal remedies. So Apollo gets to be the God of Medicine, and Hades is the God of Death; he has a huge chip on his shoulder about being associated with the one thing that humans dread most. To be quite honest, that grudge have been all it took to get him to join up and maybe redefine himself in humanity's eyes. At the very least, he figures he'll probably get a chance to smack around that pompous ass, Apollo."

"I see," Roslin said, averting her eyes from Drake, wondering how she had not yet broken out into laughter.

Adama, who'd been far more serious up to that point, was fine until he saw Roslin's expression. _She's surprised to hear that our so-called gods hold petty grudges the same way we humans do, and she's shocked to hear them bicker about each other like this._

"So is it just the four of you?" Adama asked, trying to get back on-topic, wondering how Drake expected to win this battle. The admiral had never been a religious man, but he was familiar enough with the scriptures to be able to figure out how well four gods were likely to fare against the rest of the pantheon.

"There are more of us," Drake assured them both. "Hesperos is actually on Caprica right now, though most of the others remain hidden. I know what you're thinking, Admiral."

"I bet."

"We're outnumbered, yes," Drake admitted, "but we have an ace up our sleeve, something I didn't share with your son and Captain Thrace."

"And what's that?" Adama asked.

"The cylon god," Drake said with a grim smile. "He's a double-edged sword, someone who could end up hurting you far more than the cylons ever could; but it's because of him that you'll likely be able to count on the other Lords of Kobol abandoning the battlefield."

"Excuse me?" Roslin asked.

"Zeus has no idea how dangerous the cylons are," Drake explained. "He still sees them as machines, mindless automatons that can be brushed aside once they've done their job of wiping out most of humanity, returning mankind to the comfortable, familiar status of house pets. He never stopped to wonder where the cylons got the technology to make themselves look human, how their development remained relatively stagnant except for that one unprecedented leap of inspiration. At the time of the first war, the cylons were slow, clumsy, ineffective in battle save for their sheer numbers. Now, they're superior to humans, and they've shown it. Zeus looks around and sees his plans progressing according to schedule, so he doesn't look more closely to see if there's anyone guiding the cylons. The cylons are even breeding with humans now, creating undreamt-of hybrids, and Zeus doesn't realize what's going on right in front of him."

"Which is?"

"Someone else is guiding the cylons, and he's doing such a good job of remaining behind the scenes that Zeus actually believes he's the one in control."

"The cylon god?" Adama asked. "Who is it?"

"Cronus," Drake muttered, something in his voice hinting at fear and reverence. "It's frakking Cronus."

-------------------------------------------------

Helo inhaled deeply, practically overwhelmed by Hera's scent. He'd always heard that babies smell good, but when he wasn't simply disregarding that as a cliché told by parents who were in complete denial after changing their hundredth diaper, he was chalking it up to the plethora of lotions and wipes in which babies were constantly bathed. But now he knew better.

_Babies smell good,_ he admitted to himself. _And Hera smells better than the rest._ He smiled broadly and looked at Sharon. Even now, he half-wondered if he was asleep somewhere, dreaming up this scene before him. _I don't know that it could get any more perfect than this._

"I love you," Sharon told him, gazing into his eyes, her expression tense, with no hint of the happiness that Helo was feeling.

"I love you too," he assured her.

"I know," she said. "And that's why I need you to promise me something."

"Not now," Helo told her. He knew exactly what she was thinking – she wanted his assurances that he would protect Hera, that he would care for her, if something went wrong and she was killed during the coming attack. _She's just overreacting,_ he told himself. _She's going to be in CIC. There's no safer place in the fleet._

"Yes, now," Sharon insisted. "I need to ask, Helo."

"Fine," Helo sighed.

"If something goes wrong…" she said, her voice cracking in mid-sentence. She took a deep breath, and Helo saw that she was crying.

"It'll be fine," Helo said confidently.

"I wasn't finished," Sharon finally said. "Just listen."

"Okay," Helo said. Hera stirred, and he started rubbing the back of her hand, knowing that invariably helped calm her down.

"If something goes wrong, Helo, if I start acting strangely—"

"What are you talking about?" Helo asked, realizing she wasn't going to ask what he expected.

"If I start asking strangely, if I say or do anything that could compromise our safety – that could compromise Hera's safety – I need to know that you'll do what you need to."

"If you're saying—"

"I am," Sharon said. Helo couldn't remember ever looking more serious. "Helo, I'm a cylon. I shot the Old Man, and it's not something I ever could have imagined myself doing. I don't know if they still have any control over me. I don't know if there's anything I can do to resist if they try to get me to start tearing up CIC."

"You're talking crazy," Helo responded. "The cylons don't have any more power over you."

"You don't know that," Sharon said earnestly. She was pleading with him now, but he didn't know what she was pleading for. _Does she really want me to promise to stop her? Or does she just want me to sit here and keep telling her it'll be okay? Or should I just sit and listen, the way Starbuck told me was the best way to handle a woman who's upset about something?_

"Sharon…"

"I know what I'm asking," Sharon told him. "But let me be very specific. If I say or do _anything_ that makes you think for just a second that I might not be in control of my own actions, I want you to draw your weapon and put a bullet in my head."

"No," Helo said. "I can't do that."

"You have to," she growled. "I'm talking about protecting Hera, Helo. I don't care what happens to me, no more than you care what happens to you, so long as Hera is safe. And I need you to promise me."

"Nothing's gonna happen," Helo said confidently, though he was terrified to admit to himself that he wasn't nearly as certain as he sounded.

"I'm not saying anything will," Sharon admitted. "I just can't be sure, and before I go into CIC, I need to know that you'll be there, and that you'll do whatever it takes – _whatever it takes_ – to protect our daughter."

"Fine," Helo finally relented. "I'll do whatever it takes." _But it won't be necessary. I just know it._

-------------------------------------------------

"So you won't tell us where Earth is," Kara said.

"Nope," Ares confirmed.

"Could you give us a hint?" Kara asked in a high-pitched voice that reminded Lee of a child asking for a hint as to what his parents were going to get him for his birthday.

"No," Ares said with a laugh.

"But wouldn't it be better to go there?" Lee asked. "Compared to returning to the Colonies, it clearly makes more sense."

"Only because you haven't seen Earth," Ares told him.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Kara asked.

"Earthers are completely screwed up," Ares explained. "The planet is vastly overcrowded, and they don't even believe in us anymore."

"They don't believe in the gods?" Kara asked dubiously. "How is that possible?"

"It's funny, but a lot of them are monotheists, like the cylons," Ares answered. "Though fittingly enough, being human, the Earthers found a way to fight over it. Most Earthers worship the same god, but with what amount to infinite, minor differences in dogma or tradition. They spend a lot of time killing each other over it."

"How do you mean?" Lee asked.

"Well, the first of these monotheists – we'll call them Group A – said that they were awaiting a savior," Ares explained. "Some of these people eventually believed that this savior arrived – they're Group B – and they recruited lots of people, whether from Group A, or worshippers of the same gods as you, or people of any one of a hundred other religions they have on Earth; but lots of people in Group A maintained their earlier beliefs, unable to accept the fulfillment of their prophecies."

"How does that make any sense?" Kara asked, staring at Ares, searching for any sign that he was joking with them. "How can people refuse to accept the arrival of a prophesied savior?"

"Well, prophecies are a tricky thing," Ares pointed out. "Anyone who's tried to make heads or tails of Pythia or Tabitha Donner in the past year could attest to that. It's easy to show five people the same prophecy and get five different interpretations. So it was only natural that some Earthers believed in the fulfillment of prophecy, and some didn't. Then Group C eventually came along, and they also didn't believe the savior had come yet."

"So doesn't that make them part of Group A?" Lee asked.

"No, because Group C had a political and cultural history of some… friction… with Group A," Ares said. "So despite the slew of similarities in their beliefs, Group A and Group C, both of whom believe in the same god and don't believe that the god's prophesied savior has arrived, hate each more than they hate Group B, which actually has fundamental differences based on its teaching that major prophecies have been fulfilled. Basically, Groups A and C have projected their own animosities toward each other onto their god, refusing to accept the possibility that their god would ever welcome the other group into his collection of chosen people."

"You're right, they're screwed up," Lee agreed.

"But it only gets better," Ares continued. "In the time since they originally gathered into their own faith, the people of Group B ended up splitting into countless factions themselves, each one convinced that they're right and the others are wrong."

"So they're always warring over religion?" Lee asked.

"Among other things," Ares sighed. "Look, you remember your history classes?"

"Of course," Lee said.

"Well, not really," Kara admitted sheepishly. She'd never liked history very much.

"I'm sure you remember stuff about the wars before the Articles of Colonization, though, right?" Ares asked her.

"Sure," Kara said, "but don't ask for any specifics on any. There were a lot of them."

"There were," Ares agreed. "Twelve Tribes on twelve planets, each of them with moons and small, supporting settlements and mining colonies like Troy and Knossos. And even with all that space in between them, the Colonies found reasons to have the occasional war… at least until the cylons came along and presented a common threat that united them during the First War."

"So what's your point?" Lee asked.

"Twelve governments spread out across twelve planets," Ares said. "The Earthers, though, are divided among over two-hundred different governments on just one planet."

"That's impossible," Kara protested. "How could you possibly divide up a planet like that? It makes no sense."

"I never said it did," Ares told her. "I'm just reporting the facts. They have well over six billion people and two-hundred distinct states with different governments, cultures, and languages; they fight over national identities; they fight over rapidly dwindling resources; they fight over pride; they fight over what they believe is honor; they fight over politics, and skin color, and religion, and boredom. You would think that for me, the God of War, Earth would be a paradise. But the fact is, the place sorta disgusts even me."

"But they only worship one god?" Lee asked, still finding that similarity with the cylons strangely disconcerting.

"Certainly not all of them, but a good portion of them do," Ares said. "And you know, they're so fervent about it that sometimes I've actually wondered if maybe they're right, if maybe there is one god out there who created everything, even my people."

"And what do you think about that?" Kara asked.

"I think if I have to face him when I die, he isn't going to be overly thrilled about me spending millennia claiming to be a god," Ares said, laughing slightly, downing his umpteenth beer and opening yet another. "Anyway, maybe I'll find out soon enough. I mean, what are the chances this battle is actually going to end well for us?"

-------------------------------------------------

"You see, Admiral, as I explained in our briefing, the humans aren't the only ones caught in a cycle," Drake explained slowly, leaning back in his chair, reminding Adama of one of his college professors. "This is about my kind – the so-called titans – returning to trim back the power of the gods, even as the gods work to trim back the development of the humans. All this has happened before, all this will happen again." Drake threw up his hands in frustration as he stood to pace from one side of the room to the other. "We're all slaves to history. There's a saying that those who don't learn from history are bound to repeat it, and you see the truth of that statement playing out before you."

"I'm not sure I follow," Roslin admitted. "Are you saying that Cronus is responsible for the cylons' victory?"

"I have no doubt," Drake answered. "Of course, I can't prove it. I've questioned Ms. Valerii, hoping to get her to shed some light on the situation, maybe reveal some crucial nugget of information she doesn't even realize she knows. But I've gotten nothing from her. The only way I know for sure is that it _feels_ like Cronus."

"How do you mean?" Adama asked.

"As I told you, my people are beings of thought and energy," Drake explained. "To strike an analogy, look at how humans affect the world around them. When you sneeze, the air around you stirs. When you speak, the sound waves move away from you to be detected by others. When you sweat, others can smell it. My people are much the same, though your species is as unable to sense our effects on the environment any more than one of us, in our natural form, would be able to smell your sweat or feel you sneeze on us. It's been a long time since Cronus has been in this region of space, and I suspect the gods have all forgotten how he feels… that is to say, how it feels to be around him. But I'm a titan; I knew him long before the gods came along. He's stronger now – that much is unmistakable – but I'm certain it's him. And he's not alone."

"The other titans are with him?" Roslin asked.

"For the most part," Drake confirmed. "Some are sitting on the sidelines, waiting to see how this plays out, and some of the lesser gods are working with the titans, hoping their lot will improve after the regime change."

"The regime change?" Adama asked. "What, exactly, does that mean?"

"I have a theory," Drake said, "but as I told you, I don't even have any actual proof that Cronus is back. I'm just drawing conclusions on what I see, making the leaps of logic that your species has proven to be far better at."

"And what conclusions are those?" Roslin asked.

"Zeus is trying to renew the cycle; we know that much for certain," Drake said. "My people have followed a cycle of destruction and rebuilding, just as humanity has. Cronus was the greatest of what we consider the second generation of our people, what you refer to as the titans; he came to power after killing his own father and toppling his regime. The titans then ruled, led by Cronus, producing what you refer to as the gods, the third generation of our people. Zeus was the greatest of the gods, and he deposed Cronus – his father – after a great war. The fourth generation was then produced, the ones who lived amongst you on Kobol and are referred to alternately as gods or the Lords of Kobol. The greatest of these was Athena, and she led a rebellion against Zeus."

"She lost," Roslin said quickly. "So the cycle was cut off."

"Exactly," Drake said, smiling broadly, clearly pleased that Adama and Roslin seemed to be following along so easily. "That had never happened before, not in thousands of years and several cycles of history. There are many reasons Athena lost, but for the most part, it boils down to the presence of humanity."

"How so?" Roslin asked.

"That doesn't matter," Drake said, making no secret of the fact that this was one of the things he felt neither Roslin nor Adama needed to know.

Adama made a mental note to look through their remaining histories and religious texts to see if there was any hint as to what actually happened to Athena. _If it's something Drake doesn't want us to know, then it's something we may be able to use against them if things start to go wrong out there._

"With the cycle cut off, I think Cronus probably sensed an opportunity," Drake continued. "Zeus had triumphed where his predecessors had failed, and he became overconfident. In the end, he started worrying only about humanity and its progress, preoccupying himself with making you all the best little servants you could be. Since he stopped looking to his own people for threats, he missed Cronus' return. Cronus was probably waiting and watching, knowing that at some point Zeus would decide humanity's progress needed to be set back several thousand years in order to make them safer.

"So Zeus is trimming back humanity, and the cylons are the machines he's using to do the trimming. The ensuing chaos and destruction has allowed Cronus to come forth unnoticed. Let me make this clear," Drake said, now looking gravely serious, "Cronus never liked humans. The gods brought a handful of humans to Kobol, and those few were enough to incite the Titanomachy, which resulted in Cronus being driven from Kobol, even being presumed dead for millennia. After that war, the gods returned to Earth and brought thousands of humans back to Kobol; they eventually enjoyed a prosperous era of harmony with their human pets. If Cronus is back and looking for revenge, you can bet that he isn't limiting himself to the gods – he's looking to wipe out humanity, too."

"But you said that your people are unable to interact with the physical universe without human bodies," Roslin pointed out. "He'd be cutting off his nose to spite his face."

"Unless he's found different vessels," Drake countered. "Perhaps some vessels that offer all of the comfortable familiarity of the human form, but which are stronger, faster, more durable, and demonstrably superior to humans."

"Oh, hell," Adama grumbled. "He's planning on using cylons instead of humans."

"No," Drake corrected. "Cylons, for all their similarities with humans, have the drawback of being sterile in terms of breeding with each other; on their own they aren't a renewable population. But they _can_ breed with humans."

"And the hybrid offspring…" Roslin said, unable to speak the final words.

"Are probably exactly what he wants," Drake finished for her. "I suspect that Sharon Valerii's child is the product of some elaborate scheme, the culmination of thousands of years of Cronus's obsessive plotting for vengeance. In Cronus's eyes, I think humans are as deserving of extermination as the gods are."

"So what do we do?" Roslin asked, turning from Drake to Adama.

"There's an old saying," Adama said. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend."

"Exactly," Drake agreed. "Which is one reason why Hesperos is on Caprica right now."

-------------------------------------------------

"We found it like this when we reported to our post this morning," one of the marines said, looking Baltar in the eye, displaying all of the respect and professionalism that Baltar had come to expect from the marines. Baltar noticed the man also seemed to possess all of the marines' characteristic narrow-minded adherence to protocol; he didn't seem particularly upset by the turn of events.

"How did this happen?" Baltar asked. He couldn't tear his gaze away from Gina's body, hanging limply from the top bar of her cell, her pant-legs strangling her throat in a makeshift noose.

"It appears it killed itself," the marine answered, pointing out the obvious.

"I can see that," Baltar barked, infuriated with the fact that the marine kept referring to Gina as 'it,' but knowing that he wouldn't do himself any good by correcting the man. "What I mean is, where the hell were her guards? She was supposed to be under guard at all times."

"Yes, sir," the marine admitted.

"Then where the hell were they?" Baltar asked. He was aware that he was practically shouting now, but he didn't care about that. All he wanted was to know who had allowed Gina to kill herself.

"It appears the guards on duty moved out into the hall, Sir," the marine explained.

"Moved out into the hall?" Baltar repeated incredulously. "Why would they do that?"

"The guards' responsibilities were twofold, Sir," the marine answered evenly. "Their primary responsibility was preventing the cylon's escape; the second was to prevent anyone from getting into the cell, whether those people were cylon agents looking to free the prisoner, or humans looking to kill it. It was not unusual for guards to rotate outside the holding cell and patrol the hallway for brief periods of time. We did this to make sure no one was in the halls, scouting out the location or acting suspiciously. No one listed the cylon for a suicide watch, Sir; if they had, we would have had another guard in here with it at all times."

"I see," Baltar spat. He could practically see his fury rolling off him in waves, and he marveled at the marine's ability to stand there as indifferently as if Baltar had simply stopped to ask for directions to the mess hall.

"They let her die," Six said behind him.

He was surprised to find that her words actually eased his mind. _She agrees that Gina killed herself,_ he realized. _She could stand there and accuse the humans of killing Gina and covering up their sins under the pitiful guise of suicide, but she isn't doing that. Just like me, she's just blaming them for leaving her alone when they probably knew what was running through her mind. Strange that she'd pass up an opportunity to demonize a few humans._

"I'll conduct a review to determine exactly what happened," the marine assured Baltar. "After all, we wouldn't want something like this to happen if we had a human in custody."

"Yes, of course… a human," Baltar said, trying to smile pleasantly but only mustering a sneer as he turned his back on the scene in front of him. _They don't understand,_ he fumed, knowing enough to keep his thoughts to himself. _When they looked at her, they only saw a thing. They never saw the woman inside… not like I did. Humanity could never understand what Gina and I would have ended up sharing, and I can never forgive them for what they've allowed to happen here._

-------------------------------------------------

"So, you've told us a whole lot," Kara said, "but you still haven't said why you came back."

"True," Lee added.

"You serious?" Ares asked.

"Yup," Kara grinned. "Let's have it."

"I figured you woulda known already," Ares told them. "I mean, you're about to fight one of the biggest battles in the history of your species. Why the frak _wouldn't_ I come back for that?"

"So it's that simple?" Lee asked. "Because if it is, and if you knew this battle was coming from Day 1, then I don't see why you left. I mean, you told us it was because you were scared of your own mortality, but it couldn't have been that bad, because here you are, ready to rush in alongside us."

"It kind of has to do with my reputation," Ares said, opening another beer. "Long, long ago, I was considered the God of War, but I was also seen as a real big prick. I told you that most of the humans we brought to Kobol were from a place called Atlantis; well, the Atlantians were of a people called the Greeks. They all knew about us and worshipped us as gods the same way the people in the Colonies did."

"This was on Earth?" Kara asked.

"Yup."

"So this was a long time ago, right?" Kara responded. "Since humans don't worship you anymore."

"It is," Ares confirmed. "Anyway, the Greeks had no shortage of chances to see at my worst, like when I seduced Aphrodite and got my ass kicked by Hephaestus. Fact is, I always ended up losing when I got in a fight with an equal. Fighting wars is fun when you're a god fighting men, or cylons, or whatever. One on one, or a hundred to one, no human can stand against me. But this battle we're planning… this is against gods. And that's some scary shit."

"Yeah, it is," Kara agreed, though she proudly noticed that she sounded far less concerned than the God of War.

"Anyway, after the whole thing with Athena, I went back to Earth for a while, spent some time being worshipped again. It's a great way to lift your spirits."

"Yeah, it is," Kara agreed again. This time, they all ended up sharing a laugh that helped ease the mood, which had rushed straight past depressing and was now marching double-time toward morbid.

"Eventually, I fell in with a new nation called Rome," Ares finally continued. "Got myself a new name – Mars – and a whole lot more respect. Instead of an overgrown, spoiled, temperamental little cuss, I was seen as a proper God of War. It really helped my self-esteem."

Kara couldn't help laughing despite herself, amused by the thought of a god grappling with his own feelings of inadequacy. Ares smiled broadly, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking, and continued with his story.

"The Romans were really bad-ass, more so than any humans had been up to that point, and truth be told, I had a lot to do with that," Ares said proudly. "But I digress. To answer your question, I wasn't going to miss this. And you know, fact is, I love hanging out with you guys. For eons I've watched human soldiers develop this close bond that made them willing to die for each other, even when they had no use for the nations whose armies they fought in. I don't know that I ever understood what that was until you two clowns came along. So tomorrow we go into battle, and I'm gonna make a stand, one way or the other, the same as you two. You'll get to fight some cylons, and I'll get to smack around a few gods. And we're gonna kick some ass."

"No doubt," Kara agreed, raising her bottle for a toast with Ares. For his part, Lee just stared at the both of them like they were crazy.

-------------------------------------------------

Saul Tigh fought to his feet, ignoring the ambrosia-induced dizziness that threatened to overwhelm his sense of balance. He looked around his quarters, ignoring the inconvenient tear welling up in the corner of his eye. In the back of his mind, a voice reminded him that he'd never taken any time to grieve the loss of his wife.

_And now here I am, alone when I should be kissing her goodbye and heading up to CIC to get an early start,_ he cursed silently. His mind focused on one part of his lament – kissing her goodbye. He hadn't had a chance to do that before she died, and more than anything else, that was what infuriated him.

_Soldiers should have a chance to say goodbye,_ he fumed. _It's our right… the one right we have. We get our marching orders, we see the inevitable, and we get a few frakking moments to kiss our families goodbye. Or at least write a note letting them know how we feel. I'm not supposed to be left alone, on the eve of battle, missing my wife because some son of a bitch killed her. She's supposed to be here, right now…_

Saul hurled his glass against the wall, immediately disappointed that there was no thrill in the act of destruction. He grabbed the half-empty bottle of ambrosia – his last one – and smashed that against the wall, too, spraying glass and alcohol over the entire side of the room. And still his rage was left unsated.

He picked up a chair and brought it crashing down on the tabletop, obliterating a serving bowl that had been set there the morning his wife was killed. He grabbed another chair and tossed it against the wall, shattering a mirror. He lost himself in a drunken rage, only gathering his senses when just about every breakable item in his quarters had been destroyed.

He stood there for several minutes, panting, thrilled by the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He picked up a jagged shard of his mirror from the floor and double-checked his appearance. "Frak it," he told the empty room.

He staggered into the head and took a quick shower. He took his time shaving, then spent several minutes shining his shoes. Finally, he grabbed a crisp uniform that Ellen had gotten pressed over on _Cloud Nine_. Putting that on, he took another look in his sliver of mirror, this time far more pleased with his appearance.

_Now I can go to CIC,_ he decided. He grabbed his sidearm from his bureau and walked to the door, looking forward to the order of CIC after the ruin that waited for him in his quarters once his shift was done.

-------------------------------------------------

"I'm glad we got a chance to do this," Kara said, looking at Ares and Lee. Sometime during the night, it had gotten to the point where she no longer found it unusual to be sharing beers and stories with a god. And now she was wondering what was stranger – hanging out with a god, or being comfortable doing so.

"Me too," Lee said.

"Yeah," Ares agreed. "It's been fun."

"And now I'm off to get some sleep," Lee said.

"Night," Kara called out to his back.

"See ya later," Ares told Kara, staggering to his feet and walking out behind Lee.

"Yeah," Kara agreed.

Once she was left alone, she allowed a smile to cross her face. It had been a long time since she and Lee had spent that much time in one room without wanting to hit each other. _Not since Zak was alive,_ she decided. _Then again, it **did** take divine intervention to pull it off._ She leaned her chair back on two legs, fished her last cigar out of her pocket, and opened the last beer from Ares' last case. She sat there in silence for several minutes, focusing on the thrum of the engines, steady and endless.

Despite the fact that it was the eve of what Starbuck figured was humanity's greatest battle, she felt completely at peace. _Right now, there's nowhere I'd rather be,_ she decided. She'd really enjoyed her time talking with Ares and Lee, and now she spent her rest of the night in the room, alone with the soothing lullaby of _Pegasus's_ sub-light engines, thanking the gods that neither of her friends had mentioned that, in all likelihood, they wouldn't live long enough to have another night like this one again.

_To be continued……………………………_


	13. Seizing the Initiative

Battlestar Galactica 2003 is a copyright of the Sci Fi Channel. Battlestar Galactica is a trademark and copyright of Universal Studios. Ron Moore re-imagined Glen A. Larson's original idea; but then again, most people who would be reading this already know that. My use is in no way intended to challenge or infringe upon any established copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

………………………………………………………

**XIII – Seizing the Initiative**

"The rest of the cylon fleet is here," Kara reported, keeping her voice to a hushed whisper even though she knew it made no difference. She was sitting in the Blackbird, sending her message over the wireless. The cylons would either detect the low-energy signal or not; whether she whispered or shouted made no difference.

"It looks like the force at Tauron represents about thirty percent of their total strength; it's maybe half the size of the fleet at Caprica," she continued. "Altogether, there're dozens of ships, but they distributed their forces just like we were told they would. It doesn't look like the cylons have any forces on any other Colonies, though some of the planets are so hot from fallout that even the cylons probably can't go into the atmospheres."

She ended her transmission and waited several minutes for the reply. She hated the lag time in communications, but if they hoped to have her slip into the system and transmit without the cylons detecting them, they had to be careful. _They won't be scanning these obsolete frequencies,_ she hoped. _I should be able to send and receive without the toasters figuring out I'm sitting here._

"We read," Admiral Adama replied, _Galactica's_ transmission finally arriving at her position. "We're deploying forces now. Stay in position and await further orders."

"Great," Kara muttered, ignoring the fact that her frustration was being memorialized on the Blackbird's flight recorder.

Now all that was left was to wait. She knew it would be several minutes before _Pegasus_ arrived, so she started up her astrogation computer and started crunching numbers, all the while hoping that their forces wouldn't need the emergency jump coordinates she was calculating at the last moment.

-------------------------------------------------

"The _Myrmidon_ reports ready," Captain Hawks said.

Lee only nodded to his XO, his eyes immediately returning to the tactical displays at Command and Control. _This is crazy,_ he thought, not for the first time. The idea that _Pegasus_ and the _Myrmidon_ were supposed to destroy every cylon ship at Tauron seemed nothing short of madness.

_Dozens of ships,_ Lee thought, running through the logistics of the mission. _If they're not sitting there, dead in space, this battle will be over in about a minute and a half. Why the hell are Roslin and my father trusting these guys?_

That was the question he'd avoided asking ever since Ares, Rutger, Hobber, and Drake had openly claimed to be the beings worshipped as gods by his people. _Okay, fine… say I believe them when they claim to be the Lords of Kobol. Even if I accept that, I don't see why I – or anyone – should believe them when they say they want to help us, or that the cylons will just be sitting there passively, helpless to resist us when we show up and start shooting._

"Sir?" Hawks asked.

"What is it?" Lee asked.

"Should we commence jump prep?" Hawks replied, his tone making it clear that this was not the first time he'd asked, that Lee had been so completely distracted by his thoughts that he'd tuned out his XO's voice.

Lee waited several moments before answering. Finally he sighed and nodded. "Commence jump prep."

Hawks nodded and announced that the crew should brace for the jump, while Lee looked over the status of his Vipers. He'd hold them in the tubes, keeping them in reserve. _If the cylons aren't gonna sit there helplessly, then I don't want to take the time to reel our birds back in before we jump; and if they **are** just sitting there, I don't know that we can count on them staying that way. I don't want our Vipers' emptying their ammo pods firing at helpless basestars, only to find themselves defenseless if the cylons recover and start launching raiders. No, _Pegasus_ and the _Myrmidon_ carry plenty of heavy weapons and hold a hell of a lot more ammunition; we'll let the capital ships do the heavy lifting to start._

"All stations report ready," Hawks reported.

"Jump," Lee said quickly, not allowing himself another moment for doubt to creep in.

He took a deep breath and waited to exhale, his eyes focused on the screens in front of him. His body lurched as space folded around them, and the next moment the DRADIS screens were full of contacts.

"Open fire with the main batteries," Lee ordered, his eyes watching the screen, waiting for the slightest hint of movement from the cylons. But there was nothing. _They were right,_ he decided, sighing heavily. _I'll be damned… they were right._ "Calculate a firing solution and reset the point defense batteries for long-range fire."

"Aye," Hawks replied.

CIC started to tremble softly as the weapons came to life, but Lee ignored it all, counting down from ten in his head, making sure Kara would have time to get herself out of range of _Pegasus's_ nukes. Once Lee reached zero, he said, "Calculate a wide spread with the nukes and fire a full salvo."

"Aye," Hawks said again.

"Engine room," Lee said as he picked up the internal radio. "There was click and a momentary silence before Lieutenant Riggs answered his call.

"Engineering," Riggs grumbled, his deep, basso voice providing the perfect accompaniment to the low rumble of the guns.

"Get ready to give me full power," Lee ordered. "Once we fire our nukes, we're going in."

"We'll be ready, Sir," Riggs assured him. "Just give us the word."

-------------------------------------------------

Out of force of habit, Admiral Adama tuned out the hum of weapons fire reverberating through the ship, confident that it was safe to ignore the ambient noise unless it was joined by the increasingly familiar concussion that signaled enemy hits on _Galactica's_ hull. He looked to his left and gave President Roslin a reassuring smile, letting her know that while the operation was far from over, they hadn't seen anything yet that gave him reason to be overly concerned.

"Admiral, scans of Caprica are complete," Gaeta reported, far more quickly than Adama had expected. _I guess the attack didn't take up too much of his concentration, given that the cylons are just sitting there. That'll keep Weapons Control busy enough, but Tactical will be able to multitask for the time being._

"What do you have?" Adama asked.

"On a global level, rad levels are above safety limits," Gaeta said, "but there are some regions where radiation is lower. It's a statistically significant difference, Sir."

"And?" Adama prompted, knowing from Gaeta's tone that he had more to say.

"These areas of lower radiation aren't where it seems they should be – they're in the cities, which would have been the actual targets of the cylon bombs," Gaeta explained. "Our information appears to be correct – the cylons have been cleaning the atmosphere somehow. They have the technology to remove fallout from the air and artificially expedite global decontamination."

Adama nodded, appearing to take the news in stride, though he could swear he felt the morale boost that Gaeta's report provided. _Everyone in CIC knows we have a home to go back to now,_ the admiral knew, stealing a moment to look at the faces around him, all of them both relieved and more focused at the same time. _Just take the good news for what it is,_ he told himself. _Accept that the cylons have started a process that will help us. Don't think about why they did it; don't dwell on the fact that they couldn't strive toward their dream of creating cylon-human half-breeds if there was so much radiation that the human surrogate mothers would die before giving birth._

Despite what he wanted, that thought reminded him of Sharon, who stood at the astrogation console, feverishly calculating emergency jump coordinates in case they needed to make a hasty retreat. Adama was well aware that if he didn't already know what Sharon was, he would never be able to pick her out as the cylon on his bridge; after all of the time he'd had to get used to the idea that cylons could look human, he still found the thought uncomfortably terrifying.

_But she's on our side now,_ he reminded himself, hoping it was true as he thought it. _She not only has herself to worry about, but her child, too. And if the cylons really care about Hera, they'll have to be very careful how rough they get with us if they're able to get their systems back online._

-------------------------------------------------

Starbuck watched in rapt fascination as weapons fire streaked across the vacuum of space, tearing apart one cylon basestar after another, all while the cylon targets remained completely stationary. Looking at them like this, adrift in space and seemingly oblivious to the attacking Colonial ships, she almost found it hard to imagine how formidable the basestars were when capable of defending themselves.

All of _Pegasus's_ Vipers flew in defensive formations, spending most of their time around the flight pods. As planned, none of them was engaging the cylons yet. Starbuck pictured each of the pilots, many of whom she was still getting to know, putting herself in their place, wondering what they might be thinking or feeling, hoping she'd done everything she could to prepare them for this mission.

Minutes passed by with one bright flash after another, until she finally saw something different. When _Pegasus_ and the _Myrmidon_ had jumped in, they found a fleet of basestars deployed in a tight defensive position. They had already obliterated the vanguard and were currently firing on many of the inner targets; as one of the basestars exploded, two bright lights flashed out of the hull and streaked across space, stopping and holding a steady position a few thousand kilometers from the combat zone.

Moments later, two more balls of light flashed across space, this time emanating from _Pegasus_. _The Lords of Kobol,_ Starbuck realized. _There were two of them on that basestar, and once they showed themselves, the two that were on _Pegasus_ came out to face them._ She shook her head, fighting off the skepticism borne of years of military service. _One of those balls of light is Ares._

The Lords of Kobol came together in a flash of searing light that burst across space, temporarily blinding Starbuck with swirling red, yellow, green, and violet light. As Starbuck regained her vision, she watched as the multi-colored light rippled across a small region of space not far from her position. It reminded her of the northern lights on Caprica, which she had seen while taking a short furlough with Zak only weeks before the accident.

_It's beautiful,_ she thought, unable to look away, awed as much by the display as she was by the conflict that the lights represented. She wished she had some way of understanding what she was seeing, some way to tell how Ares was faring or who he was fighting. But to human eyes, the gods' battle was nothing more than a pretty light show Starbuck knew she would never understand.

-------------------------------------------------

"Fill it again," Baltar grumbled, doing his best to avoid the accusing stares all around him. _It's not my fault I'm here,_ he thought angrily, glaring at the familiar surroundings of _Cloud Nine's_ bar.

The bartender tossed a few ice cubes into Baltar's glass and filled it to the brim with Tauron rum, a grim expression on his face.

_I'll bet he's pissed that I'm here, too,_ Baltar decided. _Here I am, a fit male who's lounging around, sipping cocktails on a pleasure liner while my peers are caught in a firefight with the cylon fleet, our future as a species hanging in the balance._

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Gaius," Six said, walking up behind him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders comfortingly. "This is part of being the Vice-President. You have to be kept safe, secure."

"Well, Roslin's out there on Galactica," Baltar grumbled angrily. A few people looked at him curiously, but if they were surprised to hear him talking to himself, they didn't show it. Baltar concluded that he'd reached the point where he smelled like a distillery and was so clearly inebriated that talking to himself was not only acceptable, but almost expected. "Chapter Twelve: The female President marches into battle, while her virile male Vice-President cowers among the women and children. I can't wait to read that passage in Donner's next book."

"Roslin could get herself killed out there," Six pointed out.

"I'm sorry, I believe the word you meant to use is 'martyred,' " Baltar corrected. "If she lives, she's a hero; if she dies, she's a martyr whose sacrifice will be remembered for ages. If I'm mentioned at all, it will only be as a footnote, a quick jibe about how the Vice-President got hammered, drowning his mysterious sorrows at an undisclosed location."

"Who cares what Donner writes?" Six asked. "She's just some woman scribbling books about false gods. Never forget that the True God has you in his heart."

"Is that so?" Baltar spat. "I should just sit here and not care?"

"So what if you'll be forgotten by humans?" Six replied. A narrow, sly grin spread across her face, making Baltar feel as if there was a huge secret she fully planned to refrain from telling him. "You'll be remembered by my people. And by God."

"You disgust me sometimes," Baltar replied, "and it's perfectly clear you don't understand me, even after all this time."

"Our child is out there on _Galactica_, and all you can think about is getting your next drink, about sitting here and feeling sorry for yourself, worried about your legacy," Six responded angrily. "Here's a news flash, Gaius – traitors don't get nice legacies."

"You don't believe I'm a traitor," Baltar said, entirely unconvincingly.

"Of course she does," a new voice said. "At least as long as it suits her purposes to think of you that way."

Baltar whirled in his seat, finding Dr. Hobber standing behind him. "What?" Baltar asked, trying not to appear too flustered. "You can, umm… you can see her?"

"Of course I can see her," Hobber replied with a nod. Everyone within ear shot was suddenly very conspicuous about walking away, which Baltar knew was either very good or very bad, though he had no idea which.

"Go away," Six snarled.

"Why?" Hobber asked. "In case you've forgotten, I'm quite familiar with that tone you were using on our friend, the good doctor. I don't know what you're planning to manipulate him into doing, but I'm not about to stand by and let it happen, whatever it is."

"You overestimate my powers of persuasion," Six protested.

"Of course I don't," Hobber chided. "You were about to play on our dear Vice-President's unbridled narcissism."

"Hey," Baltar objected.

"It's time to leave now," Hobber told Six, ignoring Baltar completely.

"I'm not going anywhere," she said, crossing her arms defiantly.

"I could force you," Hobber warned her. "Just because you're here doing my brother's dirty-work doesn't mean I have to stay my hand. I don't answer to him."

"Since when?" Six laughed. "We _all_ answer to him."

"If you say so," Hobber said with a casual wave, smiling at some unspoken joke.

"What's going on here?" Baltar asked. "Who the hell are you?" he asked both of them, looking from Six to Hobber.

"Not that a drunken, atheistic scientist like you is likely to believe a word I'm about to say, but I'm Hades," Hobber said, smiling warmly. "And she's better known as Aphrodite. She's been spending her time making certain you get humanity to settle down here on New Caprica so that her boss can restart his comfortably familiar cycle of history."

"You can't tell him all of this," Six hissed.

"I think we're beyond all of the old rules," Hobber told her. "The humans' leaders know everything, and several of us are helping them attack the Colonies. Whatever ploy Zeus has up his sleeve, whatever desperate contingency plan you're supposed to be putting into motion, it's too late. It's time to surrender and join us. There's far more going on here than you know."

"You're letting your imagination run wild again," Six responded. "That always was a problem for you."

Hobber arched his eyebrow as he stared at Six, and then he nodded knowingly. "Of course," he muttered.

"Of course what?" Six asked uneasily.

"You already know what's going on, don't you?" Hobber asked. "You're not working for Zeus… you're working for Cronus."

"I'm working for myself," Six corrected, a satisfied smile spreading across her face. Baltar had completely lost track of the conversation, but he couldn't help but appreciate the glow that he always saw on confident women; it definitely suited Six.

"I know why Zeus had you keeping an eye on Baltar," Hobber said, "but why was Cronus interested, too? Just what in hell have you been doing out here?"

"I already told you," Six said. "I've been serving my own interests for a change."

"Fine," Hobber shrugged. "Serve whoever you'd like; but it's definitely past time we leave."

-------------------------------------------------

"Sir, I'm starting to pick up energy spikes on several of the basestars," Lieutenant Barters reported from the tactical station.

"Damn," Lee muttered, glancing at the information as it was routed to the DRADIS console at Command and Control. "They're coming on line. Let our Vipers know we're gonna need them."

"Aye," Hawks said, immediately getting on the wireless and relaying the order as Lee pored over the tactical data.

None of the basestars was moving yet, and they hadn't launched any raiders; but Lee could count, and he was willing to bet that his ships wouldn't be able to destroy all of the cylon targets before they started taking fire. "We're just not doing damage fast enough," he muttered under his breath.

"Aye, Sir," Hawks agreed, speaking just as discreetly.

"Start targeting with wide dispersion fire," Lee ordered, counting off the remaining basestars. _Still over a half-dozen of the damn things,_ he thought anxiously. _And we only have minutes, maybe seconds. Time to worry more about slowing down as many as we can instead of focusing on one at a time._ "We're not going to take them all out before they start shooting, and I'd rather fight several crippled basestars than a smaller number of completely operational ones."

"Yes, Sir," Hawks agreed.

As the XO relayed the command, Lee stood there silently, doing his best to appear stoically certain of victory while he secretly pondered the myriad ways in which this attack could get everyone killed. _Two basestars have been completely blocked from our firing solution,_ he realized, noting that the cylons' deployment had been configured to defend a handful of ships from immediate destruction in the case of an attack.

"Set course 2-7-1," Lee yelled over to the helm. "And get the _Myrmidon_ to follow."

"Course 2-7-1, aye," the helmsman repeated, immediately setting _Pegasus_ on the new course.

Lee watched as the angle of attack changed slightly. _I still can't hit either of those basestars,_ he admitted, _but I can get myself in position for them once they get underway. The same basestars that protect them from my weapons right now are also going to pin them in and restrict their movement once they start to counter-attack. They only have one good angle of attack, and I'll cross their T and tear them to pieces as they advance._ Lee smiled grimly, acknowledging that there was only one thing that could still easily go wrong – _If several of the surrounding ships come online sooner than we expect, those two basestars might be able to get free and have enough room to maneuver into a more favorable attack position._

"Captain," Lee said quietly, his voice barely loud enough to get his XO's attention.

"Sir?" Hawks asked.

"Go over to Weapons Control and make sure the safeties are removed from that last nuke," Lee ordered.

"Yes, Sir," Hawks replied.

"Just in case," Lee said, hoping he was doing a convincing job of appearing confident that they wouldn't need to use the last nuke on the ship – the nuke that was meant not for the cylons, but for themselves.

-------------------------------------------------

"Back us off," Admiral Adama ordered, staring at the DRADIS console in disbelief. Moments earlier, over a dozen cylon basestars had been peacefully adrift in space, providing a golden opportunity for Colonial target practice. Now it suddenly seemed as if every cylon ship was attacking at once, heavy weapons fire streaking across the darkness of space, slamming home against _Galactica's_ armor plating and tearing through the significantly weaker hulls of the civilian ships.

"Their raiders are getting through our Vipers' defensive lines," Tigh pointed out needlessly.

"Launch everything we have left," Adama said. "Vipers, Raptors, whatever. Get it in the air and let's hope we can stall this counter-attack." The deck trembled under their feet, and Adama barely held back a plethora of curses. He looked to his XO and saw that Tigh knew just as well as he did that something big had just hit the starboard flight pod. _And it didn't explode when it hit,_ Adama thought. _It wasn't a bomb or missile – it was a ship. One of those damn heavy raiders. We're being boarded._

He saw Tigh's unspoken question, and nodded in reply. No words were necessary to send Tigh off toward the flight pod, to personally take command of the ship's troops and make sure that the cylons couldn't sabotage the ship from the inside. _Or do something else,_ the admiral considered, looking again at Sharon. _Maybe they're just here to take possession of Hera, to make sure that they can destroy my ship without murdering their prize in the process._

"Gaeta," Adama shouted, looking meaningfully at the seemingly vast empty space next to him where Tigh had been standing until moments earlier. Gaeta simply stared at the admiral vacantly, clearly not comprehending what he was being told.

"Get over here!" Adama barked. "I need an XO."

Gaeta gave a few quick orders to one of the other tactical officers and sprinted across CIC to stand nervously at the admiral's side. Adama had long thought Gaeta one of the most capable tactical officers he'd ever met, and before the war he often wondered why an officer with so much potential had been assigned to the low-profile position of tactical officer on a battlestar that was being turned into a museum. And now Adama saw the reason. _He's so damn young,_ he thought, as if he was realizing it for the first time, momentarily amused by the thoroughly overwhelmed expression on the Lieutenant's face. _He's such a good officer, sometimes it's easy to forget how young he is._

"Get on the line with the aft Damage Control Station," Adama ordered. "Get me a report."

"Aye," Gaeta answered, thankfully omitting the formal salute and proceeding directly to his assigned task.

_Maybe that'll help him settle in,_ Adama hoped, wondering if he was just imagining the determined, confident light that seemed to be building up in Gaeta's eyes. _Either way, he's got about twenty seconds to get a handle on the situation, because by then this might all be completely out of hand._

-------------------------------------------------

Starbuck grinned maniacally when she realized the basestar she was watching had finally gotten its engines up and running. _Too late,_ she knew, allowing a satisfied chuckle to escape her chest as the hull of the large cylon ship began to peel away in Tauron's upper atmosphere. _That ship isn't breaking free of the planet's gravity before the atmosphere rips it apart._

Maneuvering _Pegasus_ and the _Myrmidon_ in a wide arc, Lee had succeeded in pinning the cylon fleet between his ships and the blasted Colony. _They're too close to the planet to jump away, _Starbuck knew, remembering some of the tactical information that Sharon had given them._ They won't make a desperate, blind jump the way Lee said Admiral Caine did – it's not in the cylons' nature to do something so rash and illogical – and they don't have time to calculate a safe jump._

As she watched, a second basestar seemed to be inching its way toward Tauron's upper atmosphere, and Starbuck knew that that ship would quickly share the fate of the first one she'd been watching. _Their sub-light engines aren't anywhere near as powerful as ours are,_ she thought happily. _Just another advantage – keep the battle in Tauron's gravity well, and our ships will run circles around them._

And just as Starbuck started counting the remaining basestars, trying to figure out how much longer Lee would need to destroy the rest of the cylon fleet, everything went to hell. Two basestars seemed to come online at the same moment, both of them launching a full salvo of offensive missiles. They destroyed one of their own basestars in the process, but they also provided themselves some room to maneuver.

One squadron of raiders after another launched from both basestars, with a second full salvo fired at the same time, streaking toward _Pegasus_ in advance of the cylon fighters. The Vipers that had been flying defensive maneuvers suddenly diverted course to _Pegasus's_ port flight pod, keeping the battlestar between them and the approaching basestars. There was only one reason to do that when there were also enemy raiders on an attack course.

"Oh, frak," Starbuck cursed, recognizing the Vipers' reaction to a nuclear attack. She was about to tune into the wireless channels – knowing that there was next to no chance that listening in on a transmission, without ever responding, would allow the cylons to detect the Blackbird – when the flickering lights of the Lords of Kobol suddenly winked out of existence.

"What the hell?" Starbuck asked the empty cockpit. "Where'd they go?"

A moment later, a bright flash of white-blue light temporarily blinded her. Starbuck instinctively shut her eyes, grateful that the departing gods had caused her to look away from _Pegasus_ in time to avoid suffering retina burns that might make her momentary blindness permanent. Unable to see much more than painfully bright, white spots, she groped for the switch to the wireless, gasping when she heard the reports.

She figured it was just her luck that she started to regain her sight just in time to be blinded once again, this time by the _Myrmidon_ exploding into a billion tiny pieces.

_To be continued……………………………_


	14. A Day of Reckoning

Battlestar Galactica 2003 is a copyright of the Sci Fi Channel. Battlestar Galactica is a trademark and copyright of Universal Studios. Ron Moore re-imagined Glen A. Larson's original idea; but then again, most people who would be reading this already know that. My use is in no way intended to challenge or infringe upon any established copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

………………………………………………………

**XIV – A Day of Reckoning**

Lee's eyes remained riveted on the two basestars that were bearing down on him as he tried to think of a way out of the no-win situation. So many ships had already been destroyed in the area that it seemed _Pegasus's_ missiles hit debris twice as often as they impacted their cylon targets, and Lee had already received his first warning from Weapons Control that their ammunition stores were running critically low.

He didn't even have to look at the Damage Control station to know how badly his ship had been hit. The omnipresent red glow from that side of CIC was more than adequate to get the message through without him needing to take the time to give the matter any additional thought.

Lee looked over at Dee and smiled, impressed by the fact that she hadn't seemed distracted for even a moment. She'd handled communications flawlessly, and Lee knew full well that given the massive damage to the ship, and the endless rerouting of message lines that had doubtlessly resulted, Dee's success was no small feat of skill.

"We're almost done," Hawks muttered.

Lee looked at his XO, prepared to reprimand the Captain for his inappropriate comment, but held his tongue when he saw the stony expression on Hawks' face. _He's not panicking,_ Lee realized, _and he isn't giving up. He's just stating a fact. And he's right. We **are** almost done._ He suppressed the urge to nod in confirmation, and instead looked at the DRADIS screen again, wondering where Kara was in the chaotic soup of Vipers, raiders, and debris that surrounded his ship.

He was about to ask for a channel to Kara's Blackbird, but immediately thought better of it. The first thing that crossed his mind was that Dee was the one who would've opened the channel, and Lee didn't want to see the look he knew Dee would give him if he did that. A moment later, he also decided that wasting time telling Kara goodbye probably wasn't the most appropriate thing he could do. _Not that I have enough time to tell her everything I'd want to, anyway,_ he decided.

"Have Weapons Control route firing control for the nuke over to our station," Lee told Hawks. "I want to make sure they're right on top of us before we use it."

"Aye, Sir," Hawks nodded.

"Commander!" Barters yelled from his station at Tactical. "The basestars are backing off."

"What the frak?" Lee muttered, locking his eyes onto the DRADIS screen. _What the hell are they up to?_

"Maybe they know we're planning on self-destructing," Hawks suggested.

"Maybe," Lee acknowledged, though his gut told him the cylons were up to something unexpected.

"We're receiving a message from the cylons," Dee announced. "Commander… they're offering surrender.

"Huh?" Lee asked, standing dumbstruck at Command and Control. _Yup… that was definitely unexpected._

-------------------------------------------------

Samuel Anders gasped when the butt of his rifle slipped from his grasp and hit the ground, jolting him awake. He and what was left of his makeshift army had been on the run for a day and a half, finally holing up in this blasted ruin to make one final stand. Where he'd once had a few hundred men and women, he now had a few dozen. He thought back on the past couple of days, trying to figure out where he'd gone wrong and what he could have done better.

_I did the best I could,_ he told himself, knowing in his heart that it was true, even as he continued to second-guess himself.

"Stand ready," he told his people, his voice waking everyone but failing to inspire even an iota of hope. He could see it in everyone's eyes – during the night, each and every one of them had made his peace with the gods. "It's starting to get light out; they won't hold back much longer."

"Is there a Samuel Anders among you?" a woman's voice called out. Everyone looked at Sam, and he simply shrugged his shoulders, letting them know he didn't know the voice any more than they did.

Time seemed to drag on as they all waited silently, knowing that the cylons firmly held the initiative. After several minutes that felt like hours, the voice called out again. "Samuel Anders… I'm looking for Samuel Anders."

"Who are you?" Sam called out, frustrated that he'd been reduced to this. He would have vastly preferred leading a charge at a woman he concluded must be a cylon, but doing that would just get his people killed more quickly.

"My name is Sharon Valerii," the woman called out. "From what I understand, you met one of my copies a few months back…. Before you met me in the rubble of a building you blew up."

"Great," Sam muttered. Once again, all eyes were on him. Every man and woman around him either remembered Sharon Valerii or had heard the story of the female cylon who had actually helped the resistance. They'd gained crucial intelligence that had helped them develop their tactics. _And now, at the end, she's back._ "What do you want?" Sam yelled.

"I wish to discuss terms of surrender," Sharon replied.

"Frak that," several people all said at once. Sam knew the score – several people had a separate firearm with one round, and that one gun with one bullet wasn't being saved for any cylons. _My people won't surrender, and they won't be taken alive to be used in some kind of breeding experiment._

"You want us, you can come right the frak in here and get us," Sam told her. He closed his eyes and focused on his sense of hearing, hoping he could pick out where Sharon Valerii was standing, maybe give them all a slight moment's advantage when the cylon rush came.

"No, you got it all wrong," Sharon answered. "We're surrendering to you."

"Huh?" Sam looked around, seeing on every face around him the same bewilderment he was feeling, himself.

"It's a trick," someone warned him.

"I know," Sam said. "And it isn't even a good one. Like the toasters think we'd fall for that."

"I'm serious," Sharon called out.

Sam heard footsteps in the leaves, and he watched as Sharon Valerii's all-too-familiar face emerged from the morning mist. She was walking slowly, her hands on her head. Once she caught sight of Sam, she stopped and turned slowly, letting him see that she was completely unarmed.

"We surrender," she said. "On behalf of all remaining cylon ground forces, I'm surrendering and putting myself in your hands."

-------------------------------------------------

"What the hell are they up to?" President Roslin asked, her hands on her hips as she stared at the DRADIS console, wondering how the admiral kept the mountain of data straight in his head. "Do you think they're serious about surrendering?"

"Don't know," Adama admitted. "But we can definitely use the breather."

"Two of their four basestars are in trouble," Gaeta said, pulling up tactical information on one of the DRADIS console's screens. "The reactor cores are running critical – they're probably gonna melt down."

"Our ships aren't doing much better," Adama grumbled. "Three destroyed, and the _Aether_ is adrift."

"It could be the offer of surrender is a trap," Gaeta suggested, still looking at the readings of the cylon basestars. "Maybe they figure they can get their ships closer if we believe they're offering peace; maybe they just want to take us with them."

"Maybe…" Adama glanced at Roslin; he could see that she wanted a moment to talk, but for the time being she was holding her tongue, allowing him a few seconds to restore order in CIC. "Get me _Pegasus_," Adama told the communications officer, Specialist Annar.

"The cylons want to talk to President Roslin," Annar said in reply, reporting on an incoming message. "They know she's here, and they want to discuss terms."

"Are you ready?" Adama asked Roslin, looking meaningfully at the cradle for the wireless.

"If you could wait a few moments first," Gaius Baltar interrupted, walking into CIC through the one open entrance.

"Doctor Baltar," Adama said, trying to sound as surprised as he was. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be with the civilian ships."

"I'm not Baltar," he answered. "I'm Hesperos, actually. I believe Hades mentioned I was on Caprica."

"Yes," Roslin confirmed. "Why, umm…"

"Do I look like Baltar?" Hesperos finished for her.

"Yes."

"I've been taking this appearance for a while now," Hesperos shrugged, grinning broadly. "And I've grown quite used to it. Besides, it's just easier to continue taking a familiar form than it is to try something completely new."

"What do you want?" Adama asked.

"I'm here to advise you," Hesperos told them. "Prometheus asked me to remain behind, to relay any messages he sends."

"What's the message?" Roslin asked.

"From what I've heard, this cylon offer of surrender is probably legitimate," Hesperos explained. He leaned casually against the DRADIS console, oblivious to the flurry of activity around him. "Would it be too much trouble to get a cup of coffee?"

The admiral glared at him in reply, waiting for the god to figure out for himself that this was not the time or place for such an inappropriate request. All Adama wanted was the message, and every second he waited only served to irritate him.

"Yeah… that can probably wait," Hesperos decided with a sigh. "Fine. Prometheus succeeded in getting the Lords of Kobol to attack the cylon homeworld. When they reached the system, they found Cronus there, out in the open, with all of his supporters."

"Who won?" Roslin asked.

"The battle isn't over yet."

"Then who's winning?" Adama prompted impatiently.

"So far, no one has seized the advantage," Hesperos told them. He looked around at the personnel in CIC, smiled, stretched, and yawned for effect. "From the cylons' perspective, though, it doesn't matter who wins or loses. Cronus only wanted the cylons as broodmares for his human-cylon hybrids, and Zeus was eventually going to wipe the cylons out anyway, since, as far as he's concerned, they've served their purpose of trimming back humanity. So neither side is interested in limiting collateral damage. The entire system is being destroyed as the gods and titans hurl comets and moons at each other."

"So the cylons are busy enough in their home system," Roslin surmised.

"No, the cylons that were back in their home system have already been annihilated," Hesperos corrected. "You don't understand – the gods are making war, and nothing out there is going to survive. The entire system – planets, moons, asteroids, and even the star – will be obliterated before all is said and done."

"Meaning the cylons don't have reinforcements on the way," Adama said, nodding slowly, analyzing the cylons' situation in his head as he tried to appear unimpressed by Hesperos's melodramatic description of the battle in the cylons' home system. "All of the cylons' remaining resources are here in our Colonies – there are no more bodies to download into, no more basestars to replace the ones we destroy."

"You have exactly what you wanted," Hesperos said. "The cylons are in the same position as humanity; if this battle is brought to a conclusion, if you force an outcome, one side will be wiped out. Whoever loses, whether you or the cylons, is finished. Just rest assured, none of my people will play a part in the outcome, either way. You and the cylons are on your own in this."

"The cylons are willing to walk away," Adama pointed out, turning to Roslin. "They sound like they're ready to leave, to give us the Colonies back."

"Yes," Roslin agreed.

"And the decision is yours, Madame President," Adama said. He tried to make sure he kept his face an emotionless mask, afraid to indicate what decision he favored, praying she wouldn't ask for his opinion. _This is her call,_ he knew. _She's brought us this far. I disagreed when she said that the war was over, that we should flee the Colonies; I was wrong, and she was right. I disagreed again when she said we should come back to correct our mistake; again, I think I was wrong and she was right. And now we have to decide whether to cut our losses or go all-in; I know what I'd do, but I'm willing to accept that whether she agrees or not, she'll be right._

-------------------------------------------------

_What the hell are they doing?_ Starbuck thought restlessly. _Pegasus_ was sitting dead in space, dozens of small fires raging hot enough to create an orange-red corona around the ship, allowing Starbuck to make out a handful of remaining Vipers flying in defensive formation. At the far end of the battlestar's range, two cylon basestars held their position, sitting just as motionless as _Pegasus_, space around them a far more customary black that helped conceal their remaining raiders. It didn't take a genius to figure out who'd been winning the battle when the shooting suddenly, inexplicably ceased.

Starbuck had listened in on the cylons' offer of surrender, and she had no doubt that over in _Pegasus's_ CIC, Lee was wracking his brain as much as she was, trying to figure out why the cylons were seemingly giving up when they had victory in their grasp. _It makes no frakking sense,_ Starbuck thought. _But at least it's giving the damage control teams time to catch up. If we get just a little longer, we may be able to win this thing._

Even as the thought occurred to her, she was forced to tap her thrusters to evade a large, dull gray piece of a large ship's hull that was floating by. _Part of the Myrmidon,_ she knew, though she had no idea what part of the ship that particular piece of hull had been covering. Once she started looking around her, she found herself unable to ignore the rest of the debris – raiders, basestars, and jagged, fiberglass shards of Vipers that had been flown by people she'd had dinner with the night before.

_What's taking so damn long?_ Starbuck wondered. It seemed a simple question – accept the cylons' surrender or not. _The Old Man must be kicking the crap out of them at Caprica,_ she decided. _That's the only reason to surrender. We caught them off-guard, and though they might destroy Pegasus, they figure they won't escape Galactica and the admiral's ships._ That thought, though, brought her to an uncomfortable realization. _If they're surrendering, it's because they can't beat the Old Man. They probably figure that they can take out _Pegasus_ and make a run for it if they have to, though._ She took another few moments to look at _Pegasus_. _Frak me… if the shooting starts again, I don't think she'll hold together._

Trying to divert her attention from negative thoughts, Starbuck started going through her pre-combat checklist, making certain that all of her ship's systems were in the green. She knew there were no problems, but the ritualistic familiarity of the routine helped clear her mind. She had just finished poring over her engine readouts when several bright flashes brought her attention back to the remaining warships.

_Pegasus_ was firing, and judging from the slow cylon response, Lee had taken their enemies by surprise. _They didn't expect us to keep fighting,_ Starbuck knew. _They actually assumed it was over._

It was immediately obvious that Lee had targeted only one of the basestars, clearly hoping to even the odds before focusing everything he had left on one remaining target. The cylon basestar was caught by the full spread amidships, and Starbuck stared as the mammoth ship started to break up.

The second basestar was already in motion, swinging around _Pegasus_, remaining at the outer edge of effective weapons range, its point defense weapons getting the job done as the cylons searched for a favorable attack angle. The first cylon basestar exploded in a blinding flash as Starbuck realized with horror that _Pegasus_ wasn't moving to counter the other basestar's maneuver. _Her engines are offline,_ Starbuck realized. _She's a sitting duck out there. The basestar can just circle around and hit _Pegasus_ in the stern, where her defensive guns are least effective. Hell, the damn toasters won't even get close enough for Lee to use his last nuke to any decent effect._

Starbuck started flipping switches, spinning up her guns as she hit her thrusters. "Oh Starbuck… What the flying frak are you doing?" she asked herself, a devil-may-care grin spreading across her face as she streaked toward the basestar, laughing with pure joy as she slipped the Blackbird through the debris field. The basestar loomed larger and larger in her field of view as Starbuck continued to try to come up with a Step 2 for her plan. _Okay, I'm in firing range… now what?_ In the absence of anything else, she decided she might as well drain her ammo pods and, if all else failed, slam the Blackbird into the most important-looking part of the cylon basestar.

-------------------------------------------------

Colonel Tigh clenched his jaw and breathed heavily, doing his best to ignore the mind-numbing pain in his leg. He'd taken a round in his thigh, and as painful as it was, he knew he'd been damn lucky. A quick glance around him was all he needed to convince himself of the truth of that.

He'd led thirty-three marines down to this corridor, hoping to reach the strategically-placed chokepoint before any cylon centurions could make it here from the flight pods. He'd beaten the cylons to the punch, cutting them off from the engines, but his men had been pummeled ever since. The corridor was littered with body parts that had been blasted off of the men and women under his command. Being larger and stronger, able to carry more weight and absorb heavier recoil, the centurions had the advantage in firepower. Their large-caliber weapons were as likely as not to blast an arm, leg, or head clean off a human body.

Tigh's thirty-three marines were now down to fourteen, eight of whom were lying on the deck in pools of their own blood, heroically holding their rifles at the ready despite knowing that doing so kept them from receiving the medical attention that would keep them alive. Saul and Bill had shared countless conversations about how the military had gone soft since the First Cylon War, how the younger soldiers would never understand what it was to be in a fight, how they clearly lacked the mettle to handle such a conflict. Now, looking around, Tigh knew that he and the admiral had been wrong. _These guys are the finest soldiers I've ever known._

Finally, despite his better judgment, Tigh looked past his marines and down the hall toward the handful cylon centurions that waited there, standing by until Bill and Roslin decided whether or not to accept the cylons' surrender. The cylons' red eyes continued back and forth, back and forth, the heavily armored machines indifferent to the fact that they were awash in human blood.

_Waiting's the worst part,_ Tigh decided. And then the wait was over. The front cylon raised its arms and started firing, and Tigh felt the air knocked out of him. Moments later, he realized that he was on the floor, though he had no idea how he'd gotten there. _I don't remember falling. I don't remember hitting the floor._

Bright yellow and bluish lights danced along the ceiling; Saul recognized it as muzzle flashes, though he couldn't hear the reports from any of the weapons. He slowly became aware of movement around him, of Corporal Madsen looking down at him. _I guess Roslin declined their offer,_ Tigh decided, his mind finally starting to clear. _Good for her._ He started to become aware of sound around him. The gunfire seemed like it had stopped, but now there was an awful lot of yelling. Men and women were screaming in pain, while others were yelling for medics.

_But no one's yelling about how the cylon boarding party is about to blow up the engines,_ Tigh realized. _So I guess we held._ The next thing Tigh noticed was that it was suddenly starting to get very, very dark.

-------------------------------------------------

"Only a few batteries are still firing along the port side," Gaeta pointed out, watching the screen that was relaying information from the Weapons Control Room. "And there are still three basestars left."

The admiral nodded grimly. _I've never been in a fight where we ran out of ammunition._ Yet another battery ran dry, leaving an uncomfortably large section of the port flight pod completely exposed. Kat saw it and redeployed two of her remaining Vipers accordingly, but that only meant her resources would be stretched that much more when the next battery went offline. "We're down to rolling spitballs," Adama grumbled.

The deck shuddered underneath his feet, and he met Gaeta's uncomfortable stare. They both knew the feeling – a cylon raider had throttled up and slammed into _Galactica_. _Bad enough we can't stop their missiles; we won't last long at all if we have to stand up to suicide runs, too._ Just as he thought it, the deck shook again, this time a long, rumbling tremble that knocked several crewmen off their feet and cracked two of the DRADIS screens. It was more like an earthquake than an impact, and Adama felt his heart leap up into his throat. _They took out at least one of our engines,_ he knew. It wasn't something he'd felt since the First Cylon War, in the Battle of Themnos when the _Triton's_ engines were targeted by suicide raiders. One of the engine's blocks was damaged, knocking the engine out of alignment and creating thrust against the hull. The resulting torque was strong enough to partially shear off the engine, which then impacted another of the sub-light engines. If the _Triton's_ engines hadn't all been shut down immediately, they likely would have lost the ship.

Remembering the past crisis, Adama didn't waste time giving orders; he dashed across CIC himself, tore the safeties off the engineering board, and slammed his hand down on the emergency cut-off switch himself, killing the engines and leaving them adrift with only their maneuvering thrusters to provide mobility. He looked back at the DRADIS console, where Roslin was fighting to her feet as the rumbling in the deck subsided.

"Status," Adama barked as he walked back toward Gaeta.

"Engines offline," Gaeta said needlessly. "Two weapons batteries are still firing, but they only have a few seconds left before they're dry. The civilian ships ran out of ammo long before we did; there are only nine of them left, and we have eleven Vipers still in the air."

"FTL drive?"

Gaeta shook his head. Adama looked around at the faces that were all staring at him, and he knew what they were thinking. "Well I guess that's it," he muttered, allowing himself a moment to look at Roslin.

"Admiral, incoming message," Annar announced.

_I'm not surrendering,_ Adama thought immediately, expecting the cylons to be on the wireless.

"The _Starlight Carousel_ has increased speed to full," Gaeta announced. "They've set course for one of the remaining basestars."

"It's Captain Samson," Specialist Annar added. "He wants to speak with Actual."

"Captain, this is Actual," Adama said as he picked up the wireless. "What are you doing?"

"Taking a page from the cylon playbook," Samson said. "Seems to me the cylons sub-light engines aren't strong enough to get them out of our way."

Adama wanted to talk the man out of his plan, but he already knew it was too late. The targeted basestar had started focusing all of its weapons on the _Starlight Carousel_, even as it did its best to get out of the freighter's path. The line went dead, and Adama watched the screen as Samson's ship collided with the basestar, wiping both contacts off the DRADIS screen.

"There were over three hundred men on that ship," Gaeta said.

Adama nodded, even as he watched the _Prometheus_ and the _Kimba Hutu_ increase speed and mimic Samson's maneuver. Neither of those ships reported in – for all Adama ever knew, both ships had already lost their wireless systems by that point – but the same result followed. By the time all was said and done, all three basestars had been destroyed by civilian ships, all while _Galactica_ floated by helplessly, reduced to a mere spectator as the civilians finished the battle.

"I've never seen anything like that," Roslin admitted.

"I have," Adama admitted, nodding slowly, remembering how the Battle of Themnos ended. "That's humanity at its best, and it's why the cylons never had a chance of winning this war."

-------------------------------------------------

"I don't get it," Anders admitted, looking from the slowly growing campfire to Sharon Valerii and the blonde cylon who had let him escape from the collapsed café. "Why did you surrender?" Uncomfortable with the stare they directed back toward him, Sam diverted his gaze from the women and gawked at the firepower in their main force – a full detachment of thirty-two cylon centurions stood passively, as still as statues. Sam couldn't remember ever being this close to one of them.

"The war is over," Sharon explained. "We were in the middle of a complete withdrawal from your worlds when your fleet returned, catching us unprepared. Our basestars and raiders were all offline, our centurions set to non-combat tasks. By the time we'd redeployed our forces, it was too late."

"You could have wiped us out," Anders admitted, conceding the point when he saw what Sharon had brought with her.

"We were withdrawing from your worlds because we made a mistake," Sharon told him. "We wanted to move on and never see humanity again. Killing your people would have run counter to what we'd decided."

"So you surrendered?" Anders asked. He started to wonder if maybe it was the lack of sleep that was causing none of this to make any sense to him. _We could never have held against her centurions. She has to know that. Why the frak did she surrender?_

"We'll escort you back to Caprica City and take your wounded to the hospital," Sharon said. "Our centurions will be deactivated and disassembled immediately."

"You're serious," Sam said, the reality of the situation hitting him. "Why are you doing this?"

"I want to settle terms quickly," Sharon said. "In addition to what I've already offered, I'll give you the location of every single one of our farms."

"And in exchange?" Sam asked, knowing this was the heart of the matter.

"There are women who accepted the program, who were matched with partners of their own choosing, male cylons whose personalities were tailored to their preferences," Sharon said. "If those women choose to remain with their cylon consorts, we wish for them to be left in peace."

"Left in peace?" Sam asked incredulously. "Where, exactly? Do you seriously think, for even a second, that we're going to allow cylons and hybrid children to live on Caprica or any other Colony? You said you're withdrawing – do it. Get off our planet."

"We will," Sharon assured him. "No one who's part of the program, whether cylon, human, or hybrid, will remain on any of your twelve Colonies for a minute longer than is necessary."

"Fine," Sam agreed. "You get what passes for your civilians off this planet, and we'll let you go. But the centurions are getting scrapped."

"Agreed," Sharon said, extending her hand. "Then you have our surrender."

-------------------------------------------------

"Any luck yet?" Adama asked Annar. The communications officer shook her head, clearly uncomfortable with being on the receiving end of the admiral's undivided attention.

"They probably just lost communications," Roslin suggested.

"Or they may have been destroyed," Adama countered.

Roslin could see the pain in the admiral's eyes, and she wanted to give him every assurance that sprang to mind. But she knew that would be inappropriate, and she could just imagine how thoroughly Adama would not appreciate the sentiment in front of his crew.

"How many ships are jump-capable?" Adama asked.

"Three," Gaeta answered. "One of them is in decent shape, but the other two are pretty banged up."

"Did you calculate coordinates to jump to _Pegasus's_ location?" Adama asked Sharon.

The cylon nodded, stiffening her shoulders formally as she locked her eyes onto the admiral's.

"Relay them to our jump-capable ships," Adama instructed. Then, turning back to Gaeta, he added, "If _Pegasus_ and the _Myrmidon_ were destroyed, that means some cylons may escape. We can't let that happen."

"Yes, Sir," Gaeta nodded.

Through it all, Roslin stood there silently, marveling at the admiral's resolve. _His last surviving son may be dead, and all he's focused on is making sure that the cylons don't escape, that my roll of the dice – and all of our sacrifices – aren't in vain._ She smiled thinly, satisfied that the gods had done well in providing her Bill Adama as a military commander. _We'll get all the cylons,_ Roslin thought confidently. _And we'll win this day._

_To be continued……………………………_


	15. A Future Unwritten

Battlestar Galactica 2003 is a copyright of the Sci Fi Channel. Battlestar Galactica is a trademark and copyright of Universal Studios. Ron Moore re-imagined Glen A. Larson's original idea; but then again, most people who would be reading this already know that. My use is in no way intended to challenge or infringe upon any established copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

………………………………………………………

**XV – A Future Unwritten**

The knock at the door roused Admiral Adama from a light catnap, and he stood from his well-worn armchair, cursing himself for having fallen asleep when there was still so much to do. He opened the door to find President Roslin waiting outside, her marine escort standing at a discrete distance alongside the soldier who'd been standing guard outside of Adama's quarters.

"Is this a bad time?" she asked immediately.

"Not at all," Adama lied, waving her into his quarters behind him.

"I know you're busy with damage control, trying to make sure we're ready in case there are any cylon reinforcements that show up unexpectedly, so I'll make this short," Roslin said, a tired smile spreading across her face.

"Have a seat," Adama offered. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"I'll take a rain check," Roslin replied. "Once we know we're out of the woods, I think you and I should get our hands on some of the strongest alcohol we can find and live it up the way the pilots did when they landed." She laughed at that, though whether it was at the memory of the Viper pilots' hijinx or the image or her and the admiral behaving the same way, Adama couldn't tell.

"I'm going back over to Colonial One in a couple of hours," Roslin said, and as I was sitting at my desk working on my speech, it occurred to me that somehow, in all of the chaos in CIC, I never thanked you."

"Well…" Adama said, trying to figure out how he should respond. _I don't want to tell her that her thanks are unnecessary, because that might make it appear as if I'm ungrateful for the sentiment. But I also don't want to seem egotistical or presumptuous, either._ He settled for a thin smile that he realized would say everything that needed to be said.

"I also wanted to convey my condolences," the President added. "I'm sorry about Colonel Tigh. Everyone knows he and I had our differences, but I never doubted his ability as an officer, and I know he was your friend."

"He was," Adama agreed. He hoped that Roslin would leave before she said anything else, before she brought up the one thing he silently admitted he had not yet dealt with.

"And I'm sorry about Kara," Roslin added.

Adama winced at the words, and he immediately felt guilty when he saw that Roslin knew right away how unwelcome that comment had been.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice holding a genuine warmth and compassion that Adama guessed had never been found in a President's voice. "I didn't mean…" Roslin's voice trailed off as an embarrassed grimace spread across her face. "I mean…"

"It's okay," Adama assured her, well aware that she knew he was lying, but grateful that she was gracious enough to act like she believed him.

"They're heroes," Roslin said, standing up to leave.

"We had a lot of heroes," Adama replied gruffly as he stood to escort Roslin to the door. "Too damn many. I would have preferred an easier battle where no one needed to be heroic."

"Me too," Roslin admitted, "but we got what we got."

Adama nodded and hoped that Laura didn't notice the stray tear welling up in the corner of his eye.

"I'll come by early tomorrow," she told him, "before we go down to the surface for the meeting."

"I'll see you then," Adama said. "And good luck with your speech tonight."

-------------------------------------------------

"You did it," Helo said, staring at Sharon proudly.

She smiled back at him, but he also saw that shadow of anxiety in her eyes. He knew what it meant; she may have helped save humanity, she may have earned the admiral's thanks, but that didn't mean anyone trusted her any more now than they did before.

_If anything, they're all probably even more suspicious,_ Helo admitted silently, marveling at his fellow humans' inability to trust Sharon. _She betrayed her own people, helped us win in order to protect our child and herself. She's a traitor, and there aren't many out there who're likely to give her kudos just because her betrayal was for our benefit._

"So…" Sharon said, her voice trailing off, leaving Helo to choose from over a dozen potential conversations for which the two of them were long overdue.

"So…" Helo repeated. He chose the safest alternative. "Doc Cottle says Hera should be completely free of the incubator within days, one week, tops."

"Yeah," Sharon acknowledged. Her lips spread in a smile that never reached her eyes, and Helo kicked himself for bringing up Hera.

_Mentioning Hera means forcing Sharon to think about what'll happen to her and our daughter now. I would've been better off sharing an anecdote from the battle. Gods know I have plenty to choose from,_ he decided, remembering the nerve-wracking minutes he'd spent in his Raptor, engaging cylon raiders in a desperate bid to keep _Galactica_ from being destroyed. He'd earned his first three kills in the Battle of Caprica, and he hoped he would never be in a dogfight again. _Especially not in a Raptor. They totally weren't meant for it._

"Anyway, I heard you did well in CIC," Helo said, trying a different approach. "Gaeta says you pretty much took over tactical when he moved over as acting-XO."

"Yeah." Sharon sat still, watching, waiting for Helo to continue. He started to get the distinct impression that there was one topic in particular she wanted to discuss, and she was going to sit there quietly until he guessed what it was.

"Of course, I guess it's not that big a deal that you did well," Helo added. "You're a good officer." Sharon smiled thinly at that, so he continued. "Calculating astrogation data, keeping track of dozens of targets, that's easy."

"Easy for a cylon, you mean," Sharon responded, now shrugging her shoulders, her expression returning to an indifferent half-sneer. "Easy for a machine."

"If that's what I meant, that's what I would have said," Helo snapped. "I'm not the type to make clever little insinuations, Sharon. If I wanted to hurt you, I'd come right out and say something nasty, maybe make a backhanded compliment on how great a job you did not shooting your commanding officer."

"That's not funny," Sharon said. Now that their conversation had devolved into a fight, she seemed strangely content, as if this is what she wanted from the beginning. "And neither are you. I want you out of here."

"You what?" Helo asked.

"You have a hearing problem?" Sharon responded angrily. "I want you the frak out of here."

"Why?" Helo asked her, struggling to calm down in the face of Sharon's unexpected verbal assault. "Where's this coming from? I thought you'd be happy."

"Happy?" Sharon asked incredulously. "I'm back in my cage, left to wonder if I'm considered more a pet or a criminal. And then you come by, flaunting your freedom in front of me, talking about our daughter, as if I'm ever going to be able to hold her outside this cell."

"So that's what this is about," Helo said, an understanding nod punctuating his words.

"What do you mean?" Sharon asked suspiciously.

"Up until now it's been easy," Helo explained. "Sure, you've been locked up, but we've always been able to go to the Admiral with information or an offer of help. But if the cylons are defeated…"

"Then my value is… uncertain," Sharon confirmed. "So forgive me if I'm not doing cartwheels in celebration of our victory."

"But after everything you've done…" Helo said, his voice trailing off as he sought the perfect words to end the sentence. _After everything she's done, what?_ he asked himself. _What, exactly, should that earn her._

"You expect them to set me free?" Sharon asked. "I'm a frakking cylon, Helo. No one's about to forget that."

"But…"

"And even if they let me out of custody, what then?" she challenged. "You think we can go back down to Caprica and have a life together? You don't think some mob will come by in the middle of the night and hang me from a lamppost? Don't you realize they'll kill you to get to me and smash Hera's skull against a wall, afraid that our abomination child might someday be a threat?"

"I… I hadn't thought about that," Helo admitted.

"Well that's all I've thought about," Sharon said. She was practically screaming now, but Helo hardly noticed.

_How could I not have realized how this would end for us?_ he asked himself. _How could I have been so short-sighted?_

-------------------------------------------------

The darkness started to lift around Kara Thrace, and she strained to focus her mind on her surroundings. Her entire body felt wrong, somehow, and she quickly decided that she must have been drugged. She lay perfectly still, waiting, listening, her eyes closed. Even through the fog that had descended on her mind, she was able to remember the last time she'd found herself waking up after taking some serious injuries. _Just please let me not be a prisoner,_ she wished silently.

She had no idea how long she'd been lying there when she was finally able to make out a familiar sound. _Sublight engines,_ she realized. _Big ones._ She reassessed her situation in light of that newly discovered fact. _Cylon basestars don't have sublight engines on par with basestars; that's one of our big advantages in combat. But those aren't _Galactica's_ engines… I'd know them anywhere, no matter how doped up I was. No… I'm on _Pegasus

She decided to open her eyes and instantly realized that she couldn't open her right eye. _There's a bandage in the way,_ she knew. _I have an eye injury? How the frak did that happen?_ She thought back on what she could remember. _I was in the Blackbird, and things weren't going well for us. I decided to see what I could do… What the frak happened next? Why can't I remember?_ She did her best to decide whether her eye was fine, whether she could see the back of the gauze that was covering the eye. All she could see was darkness, and that didn't help her. _Either my eye is open and there's enough gauze to block out the light, or it's held closed and that's why I can't see anything, or it's completely gone and I'll never see anything again._ That last thought didn't sit well at all.

_I'm right-handed. I need my right eye to aim a rifle. I won't be the best shot in the fleet anymore if I can't look through a scope. To say nothing of the fact that I won't be able to fly a Viper with only one eye; the lack of depth perception will frak that all up._ "Frak it," she said, her voice cracking from her throat as little more than a whisper. She strained to lift her arm to pull away the bandage, but she found she didn't have the strength to do much more than wiggle her fingers.

"Captain?" an unfamiliar voice asked.

Kara rolled her head toward her left, catching sight of a young woman in uniform. She was wearing latex gloves and a surgical mask, but even without the mask, Kara doubted she'd have any idea who the woman was. But having taken a moment to survey her surroundings, she realized she wasn't in any danger. _I'm in Lee's quarters,_ she knew, allowing herself a sigh of relief. _Unless the cylons went to a lot of trouble, it's safe to assume I'm not a prisoner again._

"I'll be right back," the woman said, making a beeline for the door, pulling it firmly shut behind her, leaving Kara alone with her thoughts once again.

_Okay, I'm in Lee's quarters,_ she told herself. _That means I'm well enough to move out of sickbay. So it can't be all that bad._ She tried moving her legs but didn't meet with much more success than she had when she'd tried to move her arms. _But I can feel my toes. That's good news, at least._

She focused more on her surroundings and quickly realized she'd been wrong about something for a long time. _Being promoted out of a Viper cockpit might not be the worst thing in the worlds, after all,_ she decided. _I mean, sure, it was frustrating as hell when I had to stand around in CIC that time, listening to everything over the wireless, but if being a flag officer means I'll get a bed like this… hot damn._ She took a deep breath, wincing at the pain in her ribs, and exhaled slowly, allowing herself a few moments to enjoy the sinfully comfortable mattress.

She lay there for several minutes and was almost asleep when the door flew open, announcing Lee's arrival. He was out of breath – a sure sign that he'd run from wherever he'd been – which Kara found sweet, and he was struggling to fit a surgical mask of his own over his nose and mouth.

"Hey," Lee said, now moving slowly, never taking his eyes off her as he walked to her bedside and wrapped her in a loose hug that Kara assumed was meant to comfort without squeezing what she figured were several bruised or broken ribs. "How do you feel?"

"Been better," Kara replied, forcing a reassuring smile. "What happened?"

"The war's over," Lee said. "We won."

"Oh," Kara said.

"Yeah, there are only a few cylons left on Caprica," Lee explained, speaking quickly. "And get this – one of them is another copy of Sharon, and she's the one who helped get the cylons to surrender. The basestars are all destroyed, and they shut down their centurions."

Kara had never known Lee to be the most expressive person in the universe, but with this kind of news she would have expected at least a grin. But there was nothing. She couldn't see his mouth, but his eyes – devoid of any semblance of joy – told the story well enough. _There's got to be something he's not telling me._ It wasn't hard to decide what that might be once she realized that he wasn't looking right at her – he was actually looking toward a spot just to the left of her. "How bad am I?" she asked.

"Not bad, all things considered," Lee said immediately, now averting his eyes completely, conspicuously looking at the floor, doing a pathetic job of making light of her injuries. "Doc says you'll be up and around in no time."

"You're an ass," Kara croaked. She drew as deep a breathy as she comfortably could, all while trying to ignore her frustration that her sandpaper tongue could do nothing to moisten her dry, cracked lips. "And you're a coward," she finally added. "Don't lie to me, Lee."

"You're well enough so that they could move you out of sickbay," Lee pointed out. "The only thing you're hooked up to is an IV. They wouldn't do that if you were really bad off, Kara."

"Right," Kara muttered skeptically. _Though everyone's got to wear gloves and masks, so the doctors are at least a little worried about infections._ Out of the deep recesses of her mind, she remembered seeing the _Pegasus_ during the battle, doubting it would survive with all of the fires that had broken out._ I'm not here because I'm doing well,_ she decided. _I'm here because there was no room in sickbay for someone who wasn't in danger of dying within the next thirty seconds. As bad as I am, there are lots who are worse._ She found that wasn't an entirely comforting thought. "Tell me, Lee."

As soon as she spoke the words, she wished she could take them back. Lee's eyes were suddenly red and uncharacteristically moist, his lips quivering. As terrified as she was about Lee telling her the scope of her injuries, he was even more torn up about having to be the one to tell her.

"You're gonna pull through," he said slowly, his voice cracking twice as he fought to get the words out.

"You're not very convincing," Kara teased weakly. "Is it because of my eye?" she asked. "Did I lose the eye?"

"You did," Lee admitted. "And… there may be some scarring," Lee explained.

"Is that all?" Kara asked, forcing a courageous laugh. "You had me worried for a second, Lee."

"Kara…"

"No, it's fine," she told him. "Scars are sexy." Kara had always considered herself a pretty good artist, but if she'd had a thousand years to perfect her craft, she doubted she would ever be able to convey the hopeless misery on Lee's face.

"Kara…" he repeated, seemingly unable to find any other words. He stood above her in silence for several minutes, clearly waiting for the inevitable question as she built up the courage to ask it.

"How bad is it?" Kara finally asked.

"Bad, Kara," Lee said, wincing as he spoke. "It's not just the eye. The right side of your face is burned, and…" He broke off in mid-sentence and took a few hesitant steps back.

"How did it happen?"

"What do you remember?" Lee asked.

"Just bits and pieces," Kara admitted. "I remember being in the Blackbird, and I remember seeing _Pegasus_ on fire. I know I did something you probably wouldn't approve of, but I don't know what it was."

"You attacked a basestar," Lee said. Even through his gloomy expression, Kara saw the shadow of a grin.

"In the Blackbird?" Kara asked.

"Yeah… in the Blackbird."

"And I won, didn't I?" Kara asked, mustering her customary self-congratulatory bravado.

"You did," Lee said. "The basestar never saw you coming, and you strafed the hell out of it. I don't know for sure what you hit – none of us do, actually – but we think it was something related to cooling or exhaust. We started picking up a power spike almost immediately, but you were running silent and didn't get our warning. You strafed the basestar again, and as you were banking for a third pass the ship's reactor blew."

"Oh, gods," Kara muttered. Now she knew why Lee was so upset. "Radiation burns. How close was I?"

"Too close," Lee said. The answer was simple, just two words, but Kara didn't need any more. She knew what he meant.

"I'm not just burned, am I?' she asked.

"No." The word barely made it past Lee's lips; he sounded like he was being strangled, and Kara found it impossible not to feel almost as bad for Lee as she did for herself.

"I…" Kara shook her head, amazed that she couldn't ask the question Lee was expecting, the question that would make it easier for him to say what he needed to say. She looked at Lee, marveling at the fact that she'd never seen him like this. Tears were flowing down the front of his face, but he still wore a stalwart expression that made Kara wonder if Lee even knew he was crying.

Lee finally started to acknowledge his emotions, biting his lip, his entire body trembling as he fought back sobs. He was staring at the floor as he said, "The burns were deep. You were floating around out there for hours in what was left of the Blackbird. The flight decks were smashed; we couldn't get to you any sooner."

Kara nodded, wishing she could give Lee some words of encouragement, maybe tell him that it was okay, that he tried his best, that she knew he would never have left her out there a second more than he had to. But she couldn't do any of that; all she could do was nod and wonder why she wasn't in far more pain than she was.

"Where the flash hit you, the skin is… gone," Lee said. "It was just ash. We got you to sickbay and… well, they couldn't get to you right away; people were dying all over the place. When they finally got to you, they removed most of the remaining skin. It was already bad, but on the second day the lesions started appearing."

Kara practically yelped when she heard him mention lesions. She sat silently for several minutes, wishing Lee would say something but knowing damn well he was far beyond the point where he could speak without having a question to guide him. Finally, she asked, "How long do I have?"

"The doctors don't know," Lee admitted. "No one knows how much radiation hit you, so the only way to tell is by monitoring the onset of symptoms; but everyone's been so busy that they haven't even been able to do that much."

"Oh."

"It's possible you could survive," Lee told her, clearly speaking as much for his benefit as for hers. "The doctors say…"

"They say it isn't likely," Kara finished for him.

"It's fifty-fifty," Lee told her, finally forcing a smile.

Kara had seen that expression once before – at Zak's funeral – and she ended up closing her eye so she didn't have to keep looking.

"The canopy deflected most of the radiation," Lee told her. "Hell, you were close enough so that the flash would have vaporized you if you weren't in the cockpit. Fifty-fifty isn't bad odds, Kara. You've beaten worse."

"I have," Kara admitted. "But if I survive... I won't exactly be whole, will I?"

"Doesn't matter," Lee said. He finally walked back to her bedside and crouched over her, pulling her back into a loose embrace. "I'll be here no matter what. I'll love you no matter what."

"I know," Kara said. The tears were flowing, and she'd reached the point where she didn't even care. "I know it, Lee."

-------------------------------------------------

Lee closed his eyes and tried his best to focus on the meeting; President Roslin might understand his preoccupation with other matters, he didn't want the Vice-president to see him as anything other than an all-business flag officer comparable to any battlestar commander in the old Colonies. _Don't think about Kara,_ he told himself, blinking his eyes open to escape the lingering image of a scorched, withered Kara Thrace that seemed to be painted on the back of his eyelids. Instead, he settled his eyes on the reports spread out on the table in front of him, grateful that not a single bit of the black ink and white paper reminded him of his friend.

"Well, as you can see, I think we can use the cylon technology on the surface to continue the decontamination of the atmosphere," Baltar explained, leafing through his own copy of the reports. "The machinery is advanced, but not beyond our understanding. I've also spoken with Chief Tyrol, who appears to know the most about what types of resources we have available in the fleet."

"And _Pegasus's_ machine-shops are as advanced as anything humanity has ever created," Lee added. "We can build Vipers from scratch; I don't see why we wouldn't be able to fabricate any replacement parts we need to keep the cylon purifiers running, too."

"We'll need far more than replacement parts, I'm afraid," Baltar replied, straightening his glasses as he alternated his gaze from Roslin, to Lee, and back again. "There are six of these massive filtration devices in a ring around Caprica City. Radioactive particulates are effectively removed from the air in the region, and the cylons did an excellent job of removing fallout and contaminated topsoil all around the city. However, it appears the cylons' job was left undone. In short conversations with the surrendered cylons, I've learned that they planned almost fifty of these decontamination facilities all across the planet. They conducted surveys to determine the ideal sites, taking into consideration prevailing weather patterns, seasonal shifts in those patterns, upper air jet streams, the likely locations of severe storms that would inevitably disturb fallout that had already settled on the surface… The list goes on and on."

"And have they given us the results of their surveys?" Roslin asked.

"They have," Baltar confirmed. "In fact, construction has begun at many of these sites; but to complete the cylons' work – to make the planet truly habitable – we'll have to complete construction on the unfinished decontamination facilities, and we'll have to build several others from scratch."

"And we're on a timetable," Roslin muttered.

"Perhaps hopelessly so," Baltar opined. "Every ecosystem on the planet has been disrupted, many of them irrevocably destroyed. The damage to the planet is permanent, though in time I think we can probably recover. To be honest, though, you'll have to find biologists and climatologists to advise you in these areas; they're not my fields of expertise."

"Besides _Pegasus_ and _Galactica_, what resources are available to us?" Roslin asked Lee.

"We're not entirely sure yet," Lee admitted. "Just a few hours ago we had to abandon the _Pican Forge_ before its reactor finally blew, and there are a few other ships we might not be able to save. Every ship we lose is one more we can't cannibalize for spare parts to use on the surface. That's not even considering the manpower we lost. Resettlement will require a lot of strong backs, and thousands of men were killed in the battle." Lee refrained from suggesting that women pick up the slack. He knew that, in the end, it would be necessary, but for now it was surprising how many people seemed to want to cling to the idealistic dream of warm homes full of happy families, the traditional role of homemaker filled by a mother caring for a couple's children while the father worked to provide for everyone's needs. _True, if we want to bring humanity back from the brink, every woman is going to have to have far more than the 2.3 children we've gotten used to. Our death rate will be up for decades, due to a lack of supplies and health problems associated with radiation, so the birth rate is going to have to go way up. Maybe over five kids per family. I don't know how we're going to make this work._

Lee shook his head slightly, wondering exactly when during the time since the cylon attack on the Colonies humanity had decided to embrace decades of social regression. _I can't imagine Kara would ever forfeit her right to live her life as she willed in exchange for the lure of…_ "Frak," he muttered, remembering too late that he was doing his damnedest not to think about Kara.

"Excuse me, Commander?" Roslin asked.

"Nothin, Ma'am," Lee replied with a self-conscious shrug. "I just remembered something I forgot to take care of."

"Do you need to go?" the President asked.

"No, I can take care of it later," Lee assured her. "You were saying?"

"Obviously, our primary concern is Caprica," Roslin said. The unexpected focus of the conversation let Lee know he'd let his mind wander for longer than he'd thought.

"There aren't enough of us to fully populate Caprica City," Lee agreed. "It'd be pointless to start thinking about the other worlds."

"Right," Roslin agreed. "I know people want to go back to their homes, or at least to their own worlds, but that isn't practical. We all need to band together and combine our skills and strength into one Colony."

"And from what I've seen, Caprica is the logical choice," Baltar said. "As the capital, it received special attention from both sides. It had the most advanced defenses in the Colonies, which meant the most complete integration of the CNP. By contrast, Sagitarron was the least fortified planet, due primarily to the fact that most leaders on Caprica didn't trust the Sagitarrons with advanced weaponry. Ironically, the Colony with the least advanced weapons was able to muster the most vigorous defense, much as _Galactica_, the most antiquated battlestar, was better able to defend itself because it lacked cutting edge computer networking systems. Because they fought back more forcefully, the Sagitarrons were hit far harder. Sagitarron was all but annihilated, and several other Colonies didn't fare much better. Sagitarron is likely a dead planet – it will never support life again – and three or four others are currently so irradiated that not even the cylons would contemplate establishing bases."

"So what are we left with?" Roslin asked.

"By my estimates, Caprica, Picon, Aries, and Tauron are the best off," Baltar answered. "They were the first Colonies hit, the richest, most advanced planets and therefore the most vulnerable to the cylons' tactics. Unlike some others, such as Virgon, Canceron, and Leon, there was no warning, no time to dig in and muster some sort of defense. At Caprica, Picon, Aries, and Tauron, the planetary defenses were brushed aside in a matter of minutes, and the nuclear bombardment was kept to a minimum. Population centers – with the notable exceptions of Caprica City and Delphi City, both of which the cylons planned to use as their own administrative centers – were vaporized. Global radiation levels rose enough to pose a health risk, but they were never so high that our radiation treatments were ineffective. Human surrogates were kept on farms across the surface of Caprica, all of them sufficiently inoculated against the effects of the ambient radiation, and the surviving humans that organized in the resistance army were all able to survive during the occupation after avoiding the violence of the initial assault."

"So from what you're saying, we have four planets to work with," Roslin said, summarizing Baltar's presentation.

"Yes," Baltar confirmed. "I think it's a safe assumption that humanity won't plan settlements on any planets other than Caprica for at least a hundred years, so that gives us time to work."

"How do you mean?" Roslin asked.

"I think we could send advance teams to set up decontamination facilities on Picon, Aries, and Tauron even while we build a new civilization here on Caprica," Baltar explained. "We could have three planets ready and waiting for us when our population finally grows large enough for us to start thinking about expansion."

"First things first," Lee cautioned. "We still have to figure out how we're going to build a new settlement here."

"We've already done that," Baltar countered. "As you remember, I was a rather large proponent of settling on New Caprica."

"And?" Lee asked suspiciously.

"And I used the available census data to set up lists of people most qualified for entry or training in specific, required fields," Baltar told them both. "You were against settlement on New Caprica, but that distraction proved to be an excellent opportunity to get a head-start on our resettlement of Caprica."

"I see," Roslin said, nodding slowly. "And you believe that since your previous efforts appear to have borne some fruit, that we should forget the past? Do you actually expect recognition, some type of reward?"

"Actually, I was thinking of something quite different," Baltar said, an eerily confident smirk appearing on his face.

-------------------------------------------------

"I've been expecting you," Kara said, opening her eyes to find Ares standing inside the door. She had no idea how long he'd been there, or if he'd made any noise to wake her from her light sleep, but seeing him was certainly no surprise.

"Is that right?" he asked her, leaning back against the door casually, an amused grin on his face.

"You're the God of War," she pointed out. "If anyone was gonna come back from whatever it was your people were doing to each other, it would be you."

Ares' grin grew broader with her words, and suddenly, Kara wanted nothing more than to hit him. It infuriated her to see him so pleased with himself while she might be dying.

"You've looked better," he said.

"Frak you," Kara said weakly, her voice dripping venom. "For someone who's supposed to be a god, you're pretty frakking oblivious about when it's not a good time to crack jokes."

"Sorry," Ares said, a surprisingly contrite look on his face. "I didn't mean… I mean… Look, I'm not good at this 'hanging around after the battle thing.' Used to be I hung out with the soldiers on the eve of battle, kicked a little ass, and either wandered off or went whoring when I was done. I honestly can't remember visiting someone who… That is to say, I never checked in on people afterwards. I never really had friends like you and Lee before."

Kara didn't reply to that. _Just what the frak am I supposed to say to that, anyway?_ she asked herself. _Does he want some kind of frakking medal for acknowledging us little people?_

"From what I've seen of sick people, though, you look like you're doing fine," Ares offered. "The doctor says every hour you stick around, the better your chances get."

"There's no treatment for radiation poisoning," Kara spat angrily.

"But that doesn't mean you're gonna die," Ares countered, "so don't lie there feeling sorry for yourself, dwelling on whatever you maybe left undone. They can't treat the radiation poisoning, but they can treat the symptoms. Your body just needs time to recover on its own."

"Sure," Kara muttered.

"Seriously, cheer the frak up, Kara," Ares said. "The war's over; you're a hero; your people won back the Colonies. And oh, that's right – you're not gonna die. Well, at least not from this."

"You don't know that," Kara snapped.

"You look fine," Ares reasoned.

"I have radiation poisoning, you frakking moron," Kara said with a heavy, frustrated sigh. She was trying to yell, but all she managed was achieving her normal tone of voice. That was just something else to add to the long list of things that were pissing her off. "It doesn't start out that bad. I was bad off to start with because of the burns, but then I'll start to get over them right before my body begins eating itself because of the radiation."

"Oh," Ares said. "I didn't know that."

"How could you not know that?" Kara asked.

"I'm the God of War, not the God of Radiation Sickness," Ares countered. He smiled again, then immediately forced a stern expression when he realized he probably shouldn't look glib, given the circumstances.

"Humanity has nuclear weapons," Kara pointed out. "We've had them for a long time. I find it hard to believe you were never around when one was used."

"Are you kidding me?" Ares asked. "I'm not goin' anywhere near a nuclear war. Frak that."

Kara couldn't help but laugh at his reaction, though the levity was only momentary. Within moments she'd remembered her condition and started scowling again.

"Could you leave now?" she asked. "I need to rest."

"You've slept for, like, three straight days after they brought you aboard."

"That was just starting to catch up on all the sleep I lost in the past year and a half," Kara responded.

"You're gonna be okay," Ares assured her.

"You keep saying that," Kara replied, "but it seems to me that even if I survive, I'm never gonna be whole."

"Oh, that," Ares said, nodding knowingly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Kara asked.

"Well, does your surlier-than-normal mood have anything to do with a certain pyramid player I just ran into on _Galactica_?"

"Sam? He's alive?" Kara asked, part of her thrilled at the news, and another part sick at the thought of him seeing her like this.

"He's alive and well," Ares told her.

"Unlike me."

"Hey, I already told ya – you'll pull through," Ares reminded her. "I can see why you like the guy so much, though. Big, tall, handsome man," Ares said wistfully, smiling broadly as he joked with Kara.

"Stop it," she said firmly.

"And those nice, broad shoulders of his," Ares continued. "Dark hair. Nice smile. Firm butt. Yeah… I can _totally_ see why you like him."

"I'm not amused," Kara said, well aware that the smile on her face belied her words. And again, her mood darkened as quickly as it had brightened. Kara had spent months imagining what it would be like to see Sam again, and now she found herself making some significant changes to the dream. _If I survive long enough to see him, I should change the happy look on his face to one of horror when he sees what's left of me._ "He doesn't know I'm alive, does he?"

"Shouldn't he?" Ares asked.

"I don't want to see him. I don't want him to know."

"Oh, of course," Ares said, taking a step closer. "He might be scared off because of your injuries."

"My _injuries_?" Kara asked incredulously. "Half my face has been burned off, and my entire body is withering away because of radiation poisoning."

"And so you're not willing to try?" Ares challenged. "You've been pining over this guy for months, ignoring any other possible relationships – not even putting the moves on the great and mighty me when we were tossing a few back! – and now that you have the chance with Sam, sitting right there waiting for you, you're going to walk away because you're sick? Because you're scarred?"

"For a god, you have a hell of a lot to learn," Kara snapped, surprised at how thoroughly her anger was overwhelming her pain and fatigue. "We pitiful little humans don't live forever; and when our bodies are injured, they stay that way. We don't get to start over in a brand new body of our choosing. I'm not just giving up and walking away – I'm being realistic."

"I see," Ares said curtly. "If you're gonna keep being boneheaded, I guess there's really only one choice left to us."

"And what's that?" Kara grumbled.

Ares didn't answer. Instead, he opened the door and waved Dr. Hobber into the room.

_To be continued……………………………_


	16. Sowing Seeds

Battlestar Galactica 2003 is a copyright of the Sci Fi Channel. Battlestar Galactica is a trademark and copyright of Universal Studios. Ron Moore re-imagined Glen A. Larson's original idea; but then again, most people who would be reading this already know that. My use is in no way intended to challenge or infringe upon any established copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

………………………………………………………

**Author's Notes:** The story is almost over, and that's caused some of the delays. Not only have I been really busy, and not only has my muse went on the annual pre-solstice vacation, but I've also encountered problems simply _because_ this is the end of such a large, three-part story. _The Dark at the End of the Tunnel_ is about 53K words, and _Adrift in the Acheron_ is in the neighborhood of 58K. This story is going to exceed 65K. All told, that's well over 150K words of fic, and that creates issues.

First of all, there are a slew of story threads I want to make certain I wrap up (with two notable exceptions), so that means repeatedly going back over the preceding three stories to make certain I'm not missing anything. Secondly, and possibly even more significantly, there's a bit of burnout involved. After that much work on one project, I sorta just want it to end. This has been a problem in the past, where I rushed the end to a long story. One time it happened and I ended up having to go back and edit everything so that I didn't screw the whole thing by doing a half-assed job on the end. The other time, I ended up leaving it as it was because I just didn't care enough anymore by the time I was finally done.

I didn't want to repeat that mistake, so I've forced myself to take my time. I'd write a section, and then leave it for later. Then I'd write a second one, then go back and re-read the first one I did, and so on and so forth, always forcing myself to wait before re-reading and editing so that I didn't allow myself the option of saying, "Fine, there it is. Now that it's done, I'll just post and forget." Seems that'd be a stupid thing to do after writing for a year, so I'm being careful.

The final issue was the epilogue. It's written differently than the rest of the story, so if I'm working on the epilogue, I literally couldn't work on any of this chapter, and vice versa. That made for a rather drawn out process, as I've been writing both chapters simultaneously. But anyway, I think I'm almost done now, so here's the penultimate chapter.

………………………………………………………

**XVI – Sowing Seeds**

"Four planets…" Admiral Adama repeated, looking over the report that President Roslin had brought from her meeting with Doctor Baltar. He flipped through the pages, never paying attention to complete passages, choosing instead to focus on key words and phrases, such as 'uninhabitable,' 'wasteland,' 'prolonged winter' and 'significant chance of increased birth defects.'

"Four planets are more than we need for decades, possibly centuries," Roslin pointed out. "It's four more than we had a week ago."

"And far less than we had a couple of years ago," Adama countered.

"A few other planets will probably come around," Roslin responded, flipping a few pages in her own copy of the report and pointing out a section that Adama had not yet gotten to. "The indigenous flora and fauna will be extinct, but we'll be able to rebuild stable ecosystems over time, drawing on species from the four habitable worlds. The other planets will need a few hundred years for the radiation to come down to safe levels, and then we can start work on decontamination and plans for pre-settlement."

"Well, our descendants can, anyway," Adama said with a smile that seemed completely incongruous to the grim report in his hands. "We've got a better chance now than we had a week ago. You've, umm… You've saved humanity."

"With a little help from my friends," Roslin replied. "I couldn't have done it without you. Or Lee. Or Kara. Hell, not even without Baltar."

"I wouldn't tell him that if I were you," Adama said. "He can be a little narcissistic. No reason to swell his head any more than it already is."

Roslin chuckled, a slight giggle that grew into a hearty laugh that forced Adama to join in. "Baltar? Narcissistic?" she asked, grinning ear to ear. "I hadn't noticed."

"It _is_ subtle," Adama agreed sarcastically.

"So… what are your plans?" Roslin asked.

"Well, we have that meeting with Baltar later, and--"

"No, I mean what are your _plans_, Bill?" Roslin clarified. "Once we start getting settled in, once we can start to be certain that there isn't an extra cylon fleet we didn't know about, ready to come swooping in and finish the job they started."

"I don't understand what you mean," Bill admitted. He looked at Laura, at the strangely relaxed light in her eyes. He'd never seen her look like that. _Then again, I never knew her before the end of the world, before she was saddled with the responsibility of preventing the extinction of mankind._

"You lived on Picon, right?" Laura asked.

"I did," Adama said, "but I was born on Caprica. I only kept a place on Picon because that's where Fleet Headquarters was."

"So that means that eventually you'll have to find a place to live on Caprica."

"No," Bill said, shaking his head slowly. "_Galactica's_ my home now. I'm staying here."

"You planning on staying to man the lighthouse?"

"In a manner of speaking," Bill agreed wryly. "Someone has to be here to watch over things, to make sure we aren't ever taken by surprise again."

"There are others to do that," Laura reminded him.

"You mean younger officers," Bill grumbled.

"I didn't say that."

"But it's what you meant," Bill pressed. "And you're right. But that world down there… it needs young people with families and lots of kids. There's no place for this old warhorse. I might as well stay here."

"I see," Laura responded. She stood from behind her desk, walked over to Bill, and sat down next to him. If the lack of formality surprised or unsettled him, she didn't sense it. "When the cylons first attacked, you were days away from retirement," Laura reminded him. "That was over a year ago, Bill. In that time, you've seen humanity all but annihilated, you led a fleet of the surviving refugees to relative safety, you almost died at the hands of a cylon assassin, you fought off countless cylon raids, and finally, you led a counter-attack that defeated our enemies and won back our home. It's been a hard year, and I think you deserve a little rest."

"Maybe I'll take a vacation," Bill suggested.

"Maybe you should consider something a little more… permanent."

"And what about you?" Bill asked, deciding to change the topic. "What are your plans?"

"I'm still the President," Laura said, "and unfortunately, it doesn't seem anyone is willing to run against me in the pending election."

"Four more years," Bill said, smiling thinly. "I think it's fair to say you've had a pretty hard year, yourself. Don't forget that you died for a little while there." He chuckled softly, just as he always did when he made any reference to her extended absence, and then locked his gaze on hers.

"Well, if nothing else, I got a nice, extended vacation out of that deal," Laura reminded him. "I'm well rested for another term."

"And where will your office be?" Bill asked. "Up here on Colonial One? I heard the cylons' orbital artillery bombardment reduced the Presidential Palace to rubble."

"I'll split my time for now," she explained. "We're finding office space in Caprica City, but I'd also like to spend time at other spots on the planet, at the sites where we're going to build the decontamination facilities. It still isn't safe to have prolonged exposure outside of Caprica City, so I figure I'll spend a few days a week here with some of the workers, and the rest of the time on the surface with the people who are settling in."

"Makes sense," Bill commented. He shifted his weight slightly, a motion that most people wouldn't even notice, but which let Laura know that Bill was suddenly nervous. "Maybe we could set up a set day of the week to meet, maybe look over reports during dinner."

"Sounds suspiciously like what would pass for a date for people in our position," Roslin teased.

"It does," Bill agreed.

"You know, I'll be term-limited after this election," Laura pointed out. "So sooner or later, you'll have to retire and come down to the surface if you want to keep going over reports during dinner."

"Once your term is up, you won't have any more reports to review," Bill reminded her.

"Oh, come on now, someone'll find an excuse to keep me around," Roslin laughed. "There'll always be reports. It's as inevitable as the day when you'll have to resign your commission and turn your ship over to someone else."

"I suppose," Bill said, noticing that just making the admission made him feel older. "But at the very least, I should probably take a few years to train a replacement."

"Kara?" Laura asked.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Bill chuckled. "We only have two warships protecting us – do we really want to give one to Lee and the other to Kara?"

"A good point," Laura agreed. She also laughed, and then hesitantly leaned against Bill, resting her head on his shoulder.

He put his arm around her shoulders, sitting silently for a few moments before he finally said, "Besides, Kara found herself a pyramid player, and I think she's toying with the idea of hanging up her guns and playing house."

"I don't know that that sounds like her," Laura commented.

"She was born a soldier," Bill agreed. "She's one hell of a pilot, and she has all the tools to be a command officer. It'll be a shame if she resigns her commission. Some people just don't belong down there with the civilians."

"Like you," Laura responded. She sat up straight and looked into his eyes. "Just remember, Bill – at some point, every soldier has to retire."

"I know," Bill admitted. "But not today."

-------------------------------------------------

Gaius took a deep breath, smiling as he savored the touch of warm, soft skin on his shoulder. He could remember lying next to Six countless times since fleeing Caprica, but none of those trysts had been real, all of them mirages conjured up by some kind of superior being who enjoyed playing mind games with her human pet. But now he was with Six again, and he couldn't help but notice the little things, like how her body fit perfectly against his, as if they'd been molded by the gods to lie together.

"You're awake," Six whispered.

"Yes."

"What are you thinking?"

"Nothing much," Baltar answered, realizing that he was whispering in reply, even though they were both alone and clearly awake. "I was letting my mind wander," he added, now in a normal tone of voice.

"And where was it wandering?" Six purred, running the back of her fingernails against Gaius' chest.

"Well, I was thinking a lot of things, but I suppose I keep coming back to one question," Baltar told her.

"And that is?"

"Why did you surrender?" he asked. "There were many cylons on the surface who simply gave up, while thousands more fought to the death in orbit above us. And why is it that practically all of the ones that surrendered are from one of two models?"

"The Sixes and Eights," she said, rolling over on her side. "We'd had the most exposure to humanity; there were a few individuals from other models that saw as much as we did, but for the most part, the other series didn't share our experience."

"What do you mean?"

"It's all something I'm still processing," Six admitted, "but I was talking to Sharon about it."

"Sharon Valerii?"

"Yes, the copy that was living here on Caprica, not the one on _Galactica_," Six clarified. "All of us – the humaniform cylons – we were designed to learn, to remember facts and experiences, to process that information in such a way as to conceptualize ideas that could help us in the future."

"So if you stuck your hand in a fire and got burned, you learned not to do it again," Baltar surmised.

"That's a simple explanation, but yes… it's accurate."

"So…" Baltar prompted, waiting for her to get to the heart of the matter.

"I was on Caprica for a long time before the attack," Six reminded him. "I lived amongst humans, and I learned what they were about."

"The better to exploit our weaknesses," Baltar grumbled.

"Yes," Six agreed. "But there were… unintended consequences."

"Such as?" Baltar could tell by the tone of her voice that she was finally getting to the part he wanted to hear.

"We couldn't fit in without emotions," Six explained. "We tried coming up with programs that mimicked the physical reactions – tears, smiles, countless facial expressions – and we tested them on the human crews of isolated ships we captured; but in the end, mimicking emotions never worked. There were just too many variables to consider. So we came up with a way to feel emotion, and that finally made it possible to infiltrate your society."

"So it was all to make you better spies and saboteurs," Baltar said grimly.

"It was," Six confirmed. "But emotions were the end of us. Who ever heard of a machine that could love? Or hate? Or feel guilt? We weren't designed for that." Six sat up and pulled her knees up to her chest, avoiding eye contact when she added, "Shortly before the attack, I ran into a woman on the River Walk; she had her baby with her, and I picked up the infant and accidentally broke its neck. It was so fragile…"

"I see," Baltar mumbled, not knowing how else to respond.

"It didn't bother me that I'd done it," Six said. "It was just human, and even then I didn't think it worthy of my concern. Besides, I knew our attack was imminent and that the child would be dead within a matter of hours, anyway. But when Caprica and the Colonies were destroyed, when I saw the extent of what we'd done… I was horrified. I felt guilty for my role in it all; I felt disgust with my people's decision."

"And once you felt guilty, you began to question," Baltar surmised.

"Just like Sharon did," Six responded. "For her, it was even worse. She had no knowledge that she was a cylon, but over time, she saw clues, and she started to suspect. Then, of course, she gunned down Adama. I can't even imagine what it was like, coming out of a blackout to find herself in CIC, staring at the bloody body of a man she respected, a man she'd almost killed. Her epiphany was immediate – what she'd done was wrong. She had deceived everyone – including herself – to bring death to those she loved. It was an unforgivable sin."

"According to whom?" Baltar asked. "Not to question decisions that resulted in the survival of my species, but why did you feel it was wrong? It sounds like you're judging yourselves by human standards and morality."

"There's no such thing as human morality or cylon morality," Six snapped. She took a deep breath, and turned to look into Baltar's eyes. "That's what we came to understand, Gaius. The universe has its own morality, a morality based on order and life. You can see it everywhere if you know where look – the ordered structure of solar systems, the predictable orbits of comets, the stability of planetary ecosystems, and the love of mothers for their children."

"As memory serves, most stable ecosystems involve the strong preying on the weak," Baltar pointed out, deciding to play the devil's advocate. "Violence and death are built into the system."

"But predators can never completely wipe out prey species," Six countered. "If they do, they themselves risk extinction. There has to be balance, Gaius, and eradicating species is an act that disrupts that balance. What we did was an affront to the very nature of the universe."

"An interesting theory," Baltar responded, suddenly finding he was growing bored with the conversation.

"A theory that most cylons never came to understand," Six said. "We decided to exterminate humanity, and the majority of our people proceeded robotically with machine-like precision. Those of us who'd been away from other cylons, who'd been left to think and act for ourselves, learned to question. The others never did."

"So that's why you surrendered when the others kept fighting," Baltar concluded.

"Because we refused to take another human life," Six responded. "Because we'd had more than enough killing."

"And because you couldn't win?" Baltar suggested.

"We could still have wiped out every last man, woman, and child on Caprica before Adama's forces were able to secure the planet, regardless of whether he managed to destroy our incapacitated fleet in orbit," Six pointed out. "Instead, we laid down our arms and offered peace."

"How generous of you."

"And we could have scorched the earth," Six added.

"Excuse me?" Baltar asked. He was now staring at Six, whose innocent smile was in stark contrast to the hint of menace in her eyes.

"We're machines, Gaius," she replied. "We prepare for every contingency. The possibility of a human attack, while admittedly remote, was still contemplated. Our people placed very, _very_ dirty nuclear weapons all around the planet, some at ground level, and a few in low orbit, disguised as old Colonial satellites. There's enough to make Caprica – and the rest of the Colonies – completely uninhabitable, radioactive and dead for all eternity. We could have detonated them at any time, but we declined to do so, waiting instead to see if your leaders were dealing in good faith."

"And?" Baltar asked.

"And it appears they are," Six said.

"So these nukes were meant as a weapon of deterrence?"

"Not exactly," Six said. "After all, weapons of deterrence only work if you tell the enemy you have them. No, these nukes are more like a last ace up our sleeve. Sharon and I wanted to believe that humanity was better than the majority of our people believed, that you're worthy to continue living in this universe, that you deserve to live. And if you betrayed us, we would deprive you of your homeworlds."

"And now?"

"Now I'm going to provide you with the locations of every one of those weapons," Six said. "And you can take the information to President Roslin, as a show of good faith to help encourage her to accept our proposal."

-------------------------------------------------

"You look good," Lee said as soon as Kara had closed the door.

She stood motionless, one step inside his quarters, trying not to wince under his appraising, wide-eyed stare. "Well… thanks for the compliment," she finally said, to break the silence as much as anything else. Normally the compliment would be enough to set her on edge, to start her worrying about where the conversation was headed. But after her injuries, Kara took the comment for what it was worth – that she simply looked whole, that she wasn't necessarily any more or less attractive than she'd ever been, even in Lee's eyes. _And that fact alone is remarkable enough,_ she admitted. _Hell, Hobber even re-grew the hair that'd fallen out because of the heat and radiation._

"So…" Lee's voice trailed off as he continued to gawk at her. He suddenly seemed to remember his manners as he looked from her to his plate. "Can I get you something to eat?"

"We need to talk," Kara replied evenly, setting her face in her stern, Kara "Tough-as-Nails" Thrace expression.

"About what?" Lee asked, sitting back down, miserably failing in his attempt to hide his anxiety in the face of Kara's unexpected visit.

"You know about what," she said, standing above him as he lifted chopsticks from his plate. "You told me you loved me."

"I did," Lee agreed.

"And that wasn't the first time," she said.

"No, it wasn't." He looked at her intently, as if he was searching for some sign of what she was thinking. But after all their years of friendship, she knew how to keep him guessing.

"So…" she said.

"So." It only took a moment before Lee started laughing. "Gods, you look great, Kara."

"You already said that."

"No, I said you look good," Lee corrected. "That was more a statement of how I don't see any sign of radiation burns. And you do look good, Kara… but you also look great."

"Don't," she told him. And like that, his face froze into a mask of hidden feelings and intentions. "We can't."

"I never said we could," he countered matter-of-factly.

"I know, but--"

"But what?" he asked. His tone had become conversational, almost pleasant. "I know it wouldn't work, Kara. Hell, we both know it. It just is what it is. Maybe someday…"

"Maybe," Kara agreed.

"Because you know I care," he told her.

"I do," she assured him, wondering at the tears that were suddenly welling up in the corners of her eyes. "And you know I do."

"I do." He rose from his chair and crossed to her, pulling her into a tight embrace, thrilling at the feel of her warmth through his uniform. "So I hear Sam is waiting for you on _Galactica_."

Kara ignored the heavily-veiled pain in his words; knowing he'd probably practiced that sentence a hundred times, making certain his delivery was as unemotional as possible, she even went to the effort of convincing herself it hadn't been there. "He is," she replied, burying her face in Lee's shoulder, hoping her tears weren't flowing so freely that she was soaking Lee through his uniform. "I hear you and Dee are officially together now, too."

"We are," Lee said. "It is what it is."

With her face pressed up against Lee's shoulder, she couldn't see his expression. But she knew the tone well, and she could easily picture the forced smile that accompanied his words.

"Yup, it is what it is," she agreed, pulling out of his arms. "I should go." She turned and took several steps toward the door, thankful that it seemed he was going let her leave before she completely broke down. And then her hopes came crashing down around her as he added a few last words.

"I'll be here," he promised her.

"Then maybe you'll see me around sometime," she said, not turning to face him.

"I hope so." Kara walked out without looking back, relieved that she'd managed to retain a shred of dignity.

Behind her, in his quarters, Lee was even more thankful. He didn't think it was appropriate for the CAG to see a commander engage in an unfortunate display of emotions.

-------------------------------------------------

"Captain," Admiral Adama said as he stood up and prepared to step off the Raptor.

"Yes Sir?" Starbuck asked, grinning widely, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.

"You look good," he told her.

"Yeah… that's what Lee said," she laughed. "The Adama men… poets, they're not."

"I suppose not," the admiral agreed. He wanted to hug her, but he settled for a smile and nod that he knew would let Kara know that he'd prefer to stop but that, as always, he had business to take care of. She nodded back, the gesture assuring him she understood and that she was looking forward to sharing a cup of coffee with him after she flew him back up to _Galactica_.

"Shall we?" President Roslin asked, reminding Adama and Starbuck that there was still important business to take care of.

"I suppose so," the admiral said, taking a deep breath before Starbuck opened the hatch. She'd warned him that Caprica didn't smell like home anymore, that it reeked of smoke, ozone, and death. Adama had resigned himself to a two-step approach – first he would let his eyes take a few moments to comprehend the fact that Caprica was nothing like the planet he once knew, and then he would allow himself to breathe in the stench of destruction that would drive the point home.

"I'll keep the engine running, just in case," Starbuck commented, earning a smirk from both the admiral and the President. Then she opened the hatch, and Adama and Roslin walked stoically onto the blasted Colony. The two other Raptors were also de-boarding – Saffiya Sanne and Marshall Bagot, the representatives of the Quorum, walked down the steps from one ship, while Tabitha Donner and High Priestess Doreah stepped off the other, both of them clearly overwhelmed by the scope of the devastation around them.

Three people waited rigidly in the middle of the scarred clearing that was once known as Olympia Park. Doctor Gaius Baltar stood in front, with two cylons – Caprica Six and the Caprica-based copy of Sharon Valerii – standing one step behind, flanking him to each side.

President Roslin and Admiral Adama started approaching the cylon delegation slowly, their measured pace allowing the rest of the human representatives plenty of time to catch up before they reached Baltar and the cylons. As she walked, President Roslin silently tallied the things that could still go wrong. She had presented Baltar's offer to the admiral, the Quorum, and to the High Priestess, and while all had reluctantly agreed the night before, Roslin had enough political experience to realize that anyone could still complicate the situation with unexpected additions to the terms.

"President Roslin," Baltar said smoothly as the humans walked the final few feet.

"Doctor Baltar," Roslin replied.

"Actually, I suppose you may as well call me Chancellor Baltar," he responded with a smirk. "The details are still being worked out, but it does appear that will be my new title."

"Chancellor," Adama grumbled.

Roslin could see the meeting had already taken an unexpected turn for the worse, and she forced a thoroughly insincere smile as she nodded to the two cylons. "My congratulations on your position," she said, surprising herself with the pleasant tone of her voice.

"Thank you," Baltar responded. He ran his right hand through his hair nervously, and then locked his eyes on Adama. "So, Admiral… I assume you've heard my offer."

"I have." Adama stood completely still, but there was an unmistakable hint of menace in his stance. Anyone who knew him would find it impossible to miss the fact that he was not pleased with the arrangement; but he was willing to go along with it because Roslin asked him to, and because the cylons' decision to turn over their hidden nukes was an undeniable gesture of goodwill that everyone seemed unwilling to view with any degree of suspicion. _Beware the cylons when they come bearing gifts,_ he'd warned Roslin and the Quorum, but no one had listened. Now he was back at a familiar crossroads, left to choose between following Laura and launching a military coup. Given the alternatives, he followed the familiar path.

"And I take it by your presence that you've accepted?" Baltar pressed.

_Damn… he's as smug as ever,_ Roslin decided. _Of course we accepted the offer. At the end of the day, it's not like there's much alternative. Not unless we start contemplating mass executions._

"We've all heard and discussed your offer," Roslin informed Baltar. "We've spent a long time considering the cylon terms, and we find them acceptable."

"Thank you," Sharon said. "All we want is a chance to go away and live our lives, just like you."

"We have a few questions about some of the particulars, though," Roslin added.

"Why are you doing this?" Adama asked, drawing a startled gasp from the President. "Why are you helping them?"

"Well, several reasons, actually," Baltar answered.

Roslin noticed that Baltar didn't twitch like she'd normally expect him to when he was confronting the admiral; for the first time in his life, Baltar seemed supremely confident. She wasn't ashamed to admit to herself that she was concerned by Baltar's uncharacteristic bravado.

"There are actually many reasons for me to help the cylons," Baltar explained. "First of all, before the fall of the Colonies, my research focused on computer networking and artificial intelligence. I think it safe to say that my expertise will be somewhat less than useful as humanity rebuilds its civilization. The cylons, on the other hand, will likely have use for my skills.

"Secondly, there's the matter of my recent incarceration," he continued. "While many might see my imprisonment as the politically-motivated act of a desperate madman, there are still many who feel that maybe Zarek was right to lock me up. I'd rather not spend my days wondering if some slightly unhinged individual is going to take umbrage at my freedom here on Caprica."

"That's not an entirely convincing reason," Adama countered. "These are petty excuses – I want to hear why you're _really_ doing this."

"If we could walk for a moment," Baltar offered, looking at Adama and Roslin, making it clear that he would indulge their curiosity, but only out of earshot of the cylons, the Quorum, the High Priestess, and the woman charged with keeping a written record of these proceedings.

"Of course," Roslin said.

Adama only grunted and followed along as Baltar began leading Roslin toward the center of the charred park.

"You see, I have a great deal to atone for," Baltar admitted. "It was my work on the Command Navigation Program that made it possible for the cylons to bypass our defenses."

"And they used you, didn't they?" Roslin asked. She'd remembered seeing Baltar and the blonde cylon woman on Caprica before the attack, and she had already confronted him on that point. _I don't believe that he ever willingly betrayed humanity. We've all seen how devious and manipulative the cylons can be… after everything Sharon Valerii did, I'm sure Admiral Adama is willing to speak to that point. The cylon seduced him and used him to gain access to our defenses. And Baltar probably found out too late, and he's known ever since that he's responsible for what happened. The cylons used him to wipe us all out._

"They did," Baltar admitted. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "I can't believe I just admitted that. You have no idea…"

"I can imagine," Adama muttered. Roslin looked at the admiral, curious as to what he meant, but he diverted his eyes from hers, focusing on the ground.

"Of course, there may be a hundred bits of evidence laying about what's left of the city," Baltar said, "and if anyone ever finds any of it--"

"You're a dead man," Adama finished for him.

"Yes… and on the other side, I have the cylons, who are more than willing not only to have me join them, but to have me lead them," Baltar said. "Given the choice between being the leader of a new civilization or being lynched by an old one, I didn't exactly need much time to make a decision."

"And the cylon woman?" Roslin asked. "The blonde?"

"Well… let's just say avoiding an angry mob wasn't my only motivation," Baltar told her. He flashed the President and admiral a toothy, arrogant smile, and turned to walk back toward the waiting delegates.

"It's agreed, I take it?" Baltar asked once they'd returned to the group.

"It is," Roslin responded. "You and the remaining cylons will be permitted to leave Colonial space and travel unharmed to New Caprica. The centurions will all be turned over to us and reduced to scrap, the humanoid cylons and all of the cylon-human hybrids will leave into exile, and any human who wishes to join you will do so. Once there, you will stay there, never to return."

"I understand," Baltar agreed. "Now, President Roslin… you spoke of some particulars that still needed to be worked out."

"Yes," Roslin agreed. "The particulars are like this – all transports to New Caprica will be made by Colonial ships with Colonial pilots and navigators. Any electronic devices moved to New Caprica will be examined to make certain that no astrogation data finds its way onto the planet."

"You're afraid that our children will find their way back here someday?" Baltar asked.

"There will be no weapons transported to New Caprica," Roslin continued, ignoring Baltar's question. She thought it obvious enough that he was right, and she saw no point in emphasizing the fact.

"No weapons?" Sharon interrupted.

"There were no hostile, indigenous species on New Caprica," Roslin reasoned. "Unless you're planning on attacking us or making war amongst yourselves, you don't need weapons. If you _are_ planning on attacking us, I'd just as soon make it as difficult as possible; and if you're planning on fighting amongst yourselves, you can use sticks and stones for all I care."

The Sharon cylon sneered and nodded, but held her tongue.

"We would also like to emphasize that under the terms of our agreement, Sharon Valerii, currently being held in _Galactica's_ brig, should be released immediately," Baltar said. "Along with her daughter."

"Of course," Roslin snapped.

"And if Lieutenant Agathon would like to--"

"I'll discuss it with him," Adama said.

"Then I believe that will do it," Roslin said.

"No," Six said. Every eye turned toward her, but she looked only at Baltar and Roslin, her gaze switching robotically from one to the other as she moved to stand between them. "I have a few small particulars of my own."

"Such as?" Baltar asked.

"Once you've finished shuttling us to our new home, we'd like you to erase all records of the location of our planet," she said.

"There'll be no way to verify that we've complied with that demand," Roslin pointed out.

"As some cylons have pointed out," Six answered, giving a sideways glance toward Sharon, "you've complied with our cease-fire when you could have destroyed us. You've shown yourself to be a woman of your word, so we'll… trust you."

Roslin wasn't sure, but she thought she saw another quick glance, this time toward Tabitha Donner. _This is all for show,_ she realized. _The cylons are adding a little theater to our negotiations, hoping to get it added into Donner's new book, assuming that one day Donner will be spoken of with the same reverence we now afford Pythia. The passive, defeated cylons who accepted exile and peacefully left Caprica to start a new life elsewhere. Great…_

"Additionally, we would like you to stop referring to our home as New Caprica," Six added. "Caprica is a human planet, and our world will not be molded in the image of your civilization."

"Then what would you have us call it?" Donner asked.

Roslin shook her head sadly, disappointed that the cylons' plans had obviously succeeded. _They actually got Donner to play along with their game._

"What's the astrogational designation of the planet?" Six asked.

"The star was designated Ceti Alpha," Adama answered. "The planet we planned to settle was the fifth – and last – planet from the star."

"Fine," the cylon responded. "In your records, refer to our planet as Ceti Alpha Five. Someday, we'll give it a name of our own, but for now, that name will do. We're going to Ceti Alpha Five."

_To be continued……………………………_


	17. Epilogue

Battlestar Galactica 2003 is a copyright of the Sci Fi Channel. Battlestar Galactica is a trademark and copyright of Universal Studios. Ron Moore re-imagined Glen A. Larson's original idea; but then again, most people who would be reading this already know that. My use is in no way intended to challenge or infringe upon any established copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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**Author's Note:** Yes, the use of the name Ceti Alpha Five was deliberate. And kudos to those who caught the reference. There's no crossover in the works, but as the chapter title indicated, some seeds were being sown.

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**Epilogue **

For a few moments, the familiarity of the scene sets Kara Thrace's nerves on edge. The same dimly lit, smoke-filled pub at the end of another week that seemed just like so many others. The same half-drunk patrons sitting at the same tables. The same music on the stereo, all of it outdated, the work of musicians who are long-dead. She almost considers turning on her heel and leaving, and then she notices a familiar face in the haze, a man sitting alone at the bar, largely ignored by the people around him.

"What's a guy like you doing in a place like this?" Starbuck asks as she walks up behind Ares, slapping him lightly on his shoulder.

"Getting a drink," he replies with a shrug. He stands there for a beat, glancing from her to all of the people crammed into the small bar.

Starbuck has started to lose track of how long they've been back on Caprica. In the beginning, she could have told someone exactly how many hours she'd been back on solid ground; but as time dragged on, she found herself counting days, and then weeks. Finally, she stopped caring enough to bother keeping track anymore. Off the top of her head, all she can say for sure is that it's been several months now. She doesn't know for sure how many, but winter is in full swing in Caprica City, and this is the first time that's happened since they returned. So she's sure it's been less than a year.

As it's the end of this umpteenth week, colonists are arriving back in Caprica City on their weekly furlough, to visit with family and friends after spending five days working at atmosphere decontamination sites around the planet. As always, everyone in the room is cold and exhausted, but Starbuck can still sense an undeniable energy in the pub. It's not like anything she's ever felt in her life – certainly not like anything before the cylons came and wiped out most of humanity – and it's what keeps her coming out to mingle with people when she and Sam could be alone in their apartment, instead.

"So where have you been hiding yourself all this time?" Starbuck asks, gesturing to the bartender to refill her mug.

"Been here and there," Ares answers evasively, which isn't exactly a surprise. "There's plenty to keep me busy."

"I figured you would have left by now," Starbuck says. She doesn't know why she says it – it's not like she wants him gone – it's just that there's something about seeing Ares in the pub, nothing about his appearance setting him apart from the people around him. She wonders if anyone else would look at Ares and think he doesn't belong, or if she just feels that way because she happens to know that he's one of the Lords of Kobol. _Then again, who's to say Ares and many others haven't spent time amongst us for millennia, occasionally in the guise of a guy getting a drink at the local pub?_

"And I figured you and Sam would be staying in," Ares says with a sly grin. "The libido finally starting to slow down, Kara?"

"You'll never know," she teases, grinning and punching his chest playfully. All of a sudden, her thoughts about him not belonging there are gone, and it's like old times back on _Galactica_, two pilots shooting the breeze, enjoying some time away from the daily grind.

"Where is Sam, anyway?"

"He'll be here soon," Starbuck assures him, turning again to look over the room, making sure that her husband hasn't slipped in unnoticed. "His crew was down by Port Cypress this week… their ship is one of the last ones in tonight. But I was asking about you – what are _you_ doin' here?"

"Saying goodbye, I guess," Ares admits uneasily. Once again, he takes a look around the room, and Starbuck realizes that he's doing his best to freeze this scene in his memory.

_I wonder what it's like for him,_ Starbuck thinks. _He's been around humanity for who knows how long; he's seen our rises and falls, our good times and bad. Is this just another moment in time for him, or will he ever look back on us and remember us all as something special?_

"I'll never forget you and the rest," Ares assures her.

"Wait a second…" Starbuck says. _Can he read minds?_

"Yes," Ares answers. "Come on, Starbuck; it can't be that big a surprise."

"Humph," she grunts, trying to clear her head, hoping not to give anything away. It only takes her a moment to realize how silly it is to do so. _By now, he's got to know every secret I'm keeping. Why start being guarded now?_

"Anyway, I hung around for a while," Ares says, "made sure the rest of my people abided by the terms of our treaties. I think my work here is about done."

"So what _were_ those terms?" Starbuck asks curiously.

"A little nosy, aren't you?" Ares laughs. His tone is friendly, but there's a glimmer in his eyes warning Starbuck to let the matter drop.

"Just curious is all," she says, deciding to push the matter a little more to see how Ares responds.

"You know, I'm curious too," Ares tells her. "Have you and Lee sat down with Sam and Dee to get all of your issues out in the open?"

"Okay, fine," Starbuck says immediately, throwing her hands up in surrender as she looks around to make sure Sam hasn't shown up and wandered into earshot at an inconvenient moment. "You win. Keep your secrets."

"I will," Ares says, grinning broadly. And then, in an instant, the smile melts away and he's left looking almost serious. "I'm glad I got to see you again before I left."

"Me too," Starbuck admits. "I never got to thank you for what you did." She touches her face, runs her hands through her hair, tries to remember what it was like without a right eye.

"I didn't do anything," Ares says with a casual shrug. "That was all Hades. I blow shit up – he's the one who's all about life and death."

"Still, you could have left me there to die."

"True."

"And I'm glad you didn't."

"Kara, you attacked a cylon basestar with the Blackbird… and you won," Ares says, nodding slowly, as if he can barely believe his own words. "That's gotta be one of the coolest frakking things ever. No way was I gonna let you waste away for a few days before dying alone in Lee's bed, not when I could talk Hades into regenerating you and causing no end of angsty amusement for everyone who knows you and Lee."

"You're a true humanitarian," Starbuck replies, again making sure Sam hasn't shown up to hear any of this. Then it's time to change the topic. "So… you're just leaving now?"

"In a couple of days," Ares says. "I'm going to Lee and Dee's wedding tomorrow, and I'll probably take off after the reception. I… didn't expect you to make it there, so I figured this might be my last chance to say goodbye to you."

"Yeah…" Kara says, avoiding any comments about Lee's wedding, slowly groing irritated by Ares' constant returns to the uncomfortable topic of Lee Adama. She knows she should at least display some pretense of happiness – Lee was certainly nothing less than a consummate gentleman when she and Sam got married, despite the circumstances and the shell-shocked look on his face when he shook Sam's hand – but she just can't even bring herself to think about the idea of Lee getting married, no less carry on a friendly discussion about it. "Thanks for coming, Ares. I woulda missed saying goodbye."

"Don't mention it," he says.

The bartender finally arrives with Kara's beer, and she takes several large gulps, motioning for the bartender to start filling her next round even as she starts on this one. _Perfect timing,_ she decides, thankful that the drink gives her an excuse not to talk right away. She spends several moments in silence, alternating between memories of her last night with Lee and doing her best to stop remembering so vividly, lest Ares know everything. Finally, she says, "It won't be the same without you around."

"Well, I figure there aren't enough humans left to make for any interesting wars," Ares answers, a disappointed scowl on his face. "Knowing you guys, you'll still find a way to kill a few people over something – maybe a plot of land, or some kind of perceived slight, or maybe even a controversial political decision – but it won't really be interesting. Anyway, some of the others have been getting all philosophical, saying we have to redefine our roles in the universe or some crap like that. Maybe they're right… Either way, there's no point in me playing God of War to humanity for at least a few centuries."

"So where are you going?" Starbuck asks. "What else is out there?"

"You're getting nosy again," Ares tells her.

"It's a character flaw," Starbuck laughs. "I've learned to accept it."

"Learned to embrace it, more like," Ares replies. "And anyway, it suits you."

"I'm not sure how to take that."

"Good."

They both laugh lightly to fill the awkward break in their exchange, and then Kara turns to her drink again, wondering at how it suddenly feels awkward trying to carry on a conversation with this Lord of Kobol. She shrugs slightly, and decides to ask about something that's been bugging her for months.

"Can I ask a question?" she says, locking her eyes on Ares', daring him to refuse her.

"You can ask," he replies, smirking broadly. "No guarantee you'll get an answer."

"Back when you told us that you're one of the Lords of Kobol, you…" Starbuck's voice trails off weakly as she tries to find the proper way of phrasing her question. "You showed me things," she finally says. "In my mind."

"Yes," Ares confirms. If anything, he seems happy that Starbuck is bringing this up.

"And one of them was a meeting of cylons," Starbuck remembers, Ares' reaction making her feel far more comfortable with the conversation.

"Ah… that," he says. "I was surprised you didn't ask me about that sooner."

"They weren't _really_ cylons, were they?' she asks hesitantly.

"No, they weren't," Ares confirms. "Those were all human bodies. You see, the forms – and even the personalities – you came to know as the humanoid cylons were all renderings of the Lords of Kobol at the time of Athena's rebellion."

"I don't understand," Kara admits, working it all through in her head.

"That was the last time we went to war," Ares says. "Remember that Cronus is the one who gave the cylons the technology to make their humanoid models. You're only human, so you'll never understand the extent of Cronus' arrogance." Ares stops for a moment, clearly choosing his words as he signals the bartender that he's almost ready for another round of his own.

"How do you mean, arrogance?" Kara asks.

"By your human reckoning, Cronus is well over a million years old," Ares replies. "He spent most of his life as the unquestioned lord of a species of immortal beings of energy and thought that uses the universe as its own personal playground. Pride isn't just a human flaw, Kara. When Zeus rose up and deposed Cronus, he humiliated a vastly powerful being who thought of himself as a god."

Kara nods as she follows along, glancing around, once again checking for Sam and noting that not a single person near them seems the least bit interested in their conversation. Given the topic, she finds that astounding.

"They can't hear us," Ares explains, nodding toward the humans in the pub. "This is for your ears only." As if to prove Ares' statement, the bartender places two freshly filled mugs in front of them, and then walks away without the faintest hint of interest in what they're saying.

"Oh," Kara mumbles, wondering what other parlor tricks Ares might be capable of performing.

"And as I was saying, Cronus was royally pissed," Ares continues. He takes a sip of his beer, his expression betraying his joy at telling this story; Kara assumes that means it'll end violently. "Everyone took him for dead, because no one imagined that Cronus would just leave; it wasn't his style at all," Ares says. "After countless eons following Cronus' lead, watching him overwhelm one challenge after another through sheer strength, we all ended up forgetting how clever, calculating, and manipulative he could be. He saw he'd been defeated, so he went away for a while."

"To plan for revenge," Kara concludes.

"The Earthers have a saying that revenge is a dish best served cold," Ares says, a thin smile betraying his amusement at some untold joke. "It's the kind of wisdom that Cronus would embrace – he let his revenge sit there getting cold for millennia, waiting for everyone to forget that he'd even existed in the first place. He watched from afar, confident that Zeus would provide an opening. Athena's Rebellion convinced Zeus that humanity needed to be trimmed back, and Cronus realized that Zeus would have to repeat that precaution every few millennia. So he watched and waited, until Zeus sent Hephaestus to inspire your engineers to build the cylons."

"So your people are responsible for that," Kara mutters.

"No, Zeus just made sure your people got a nudge in the right direction," Ares counters. "The first Cylon War set you back a little, but not enough. When humanity ended up winning an unexpectedly convincing victory, Zeus made sure some cylons survived, and he sent them to a planet where they could regroup. And then… he just walked away."

"He what?"

"Zeus left," Ares shrugs. "He left Apollo behind to make sure the job got done, which was just stupidity on a colossal scale, because Apollo is many things, but an effective administrator he is not."

Kara laughs at that, knowing that Ares is speaking of Apollo, Lord of Kobol, but unable to shake the image of a confused Lee pacing around _Pegasus's_ CIC, trying to maintain military discipline in the recent post-war days. Ares gives her an agreeing nod, and then continues.

"Hades started scheming with Prometheus to help humanity, Aphrodite and a few others ended up signing on with Cronus, and I basically sat around bugging Apollo, disrupting the whole operation for shits and giggles," Ares says with a mischievous grin. "I don't know when Cronus showed up, but it had to have been a while ago. Like I said before, he was an egotistical son of a bitch, so it wasn't enough to give the cylons the technology to look human. He gave them the technology to build twelve models, each one fashioned in the image of one of the Lords of Kobol at the time of Athena's Rebellion. That was the last time Zeus trimmed back humanity and when Cronus hatched his little scheme to strike when Zeus reinitiated his little population control plan."

"Why would Cronus do that?' Kara asks. "That's one hell of a clue that there's something suspicious going on."

"He did it _because_ it was a clue," Ares answers, shrugging and slamming his mug down on the bar. "It wasn't enough to beat Zeus, to regain power over the gods, and to wipe out humanity. He wanted to be able to stroll in after it was all done and shove our faces in it, to point out that we should have known all along because the cylons all had faces that we'd worn in the past."

"And why didn't you know? How could you not notice?"

"Because we've worn so many faces over so many years," Ares tells her. He stops for a moment and seems to choose and discard several alternatives of how to continue his story before he adds, "We're not like you, Kara. Humans have one face, and it changes only slowly over the course of a lifetime. By contrast, take Aphrodite – she's been known to go through bodies the way human women go through dresses. She'll find a young, beautiful woman, and take the body until she finds a wrinkle or a stray gray hair some morning. And I'm no better – as soon as a body loses a step, I move on. Hades is the only one who noticed that the cylon bodies looked familiar, and that's because he's been known to spend decades, sometimes centuries, in the same body. He keeps them regenerated and alive, and he gets comfortable in his skin. The one your people know as Cavill was a body he'd worn for a very long time. So he realized that there was more going on than the rest of us knew, and he acted accordingly. Luckily for you."

"So Hades, the widely feared God of Death and Lord of the Underworld is the lord who saved mankind," Kara says, grinning widely. "He's gonna be pissed when no one believes the story enough to build him some cheerier temples."

"We'll see," Ares grins. "Anyway, I'll see you around," he tells her, standing to his feet. There's a subtle shift in the crowd around him as people subconsciously decide to move away, to make a path toward the door.

"You will?" Kara asks.

"Yeah," he assures her. "Someday. Of course, I'll look different then – younger, stronger body and all – but you'll know it's me."

"How?"

"I'll be the one with the most expensive present on your wedding day."

"I'm already married," Kara points out. "You missed it. And come to think of it, I didn't get a present." She flashes him a playful pout that she fails to shift into a reproachful stare.

"I mean your _next_ wedding day," Ares clarifies, smiling at her expression.

"Huh?"

"Hey!" Sam's voice calls out right behind Kara. She spins quickly, instantly finding herself wrapped up in her husband's arms. "Getting started without me?" he asks, looking at the glass in her hand.

"I was just having a conversation with…" Her voice trails off as she turns back around, unable to find Ares anywhere in the pub. There's a moment of disappointment, but part of her admits that that's pretty much the perfect exit for Ares.

"With who?" Sam asks.

"Doesn't matter," Kara says, shrugging slightly. "Just an old war buddy. He slipped out, though. I'm all yours, now."

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A cold wind cuts across the clearing, kicking up dust and dry, decaying, months-old leaves that provide the sole memory of last year's growing season. Sharon Agathon sighs heavily, not for the first time, and certainly not for the last. The trees are starting to bud now, and the air is warmer than it was a few weeks earlier, but this is still a far cry from the Caprican springs she remembers. _Of course, I never actually experienced any of those_,she reminds herself. _Those are all just fake memories programmed into my mind._ Not a day goes by when she doesn't disgust herself with reminders that she's a machine masquerading as a women, but it's starting to get easier for her out here, part of a real family with Helo and Hera. When all else fails, she can always look around at other couples, like Gaius and Caprica Six; that always makes her feel better about her own lot in life.

She knew living on this world would be tough – Helo hadn't minced words when he described the planet's surface – but some part of her had held out hope that her husband had been exaggerating, that he'd simply stressed the negatives so that she would be pleasantly surprised to find that it wasn't as bad as she'd been led to believe. _But as usual, Helo called it like he saw it,_ Sharon acknowledges. _No exaggeration, no sugar-coating, no rose-colored glasses. Just a crappy gray and brown world that we get to call home. But for good or bad, it _is _home._

She lights two flares and tosses them onto a large patch of charred earth, marking the planet's unofficial landing pad. Moments later, a Colonial Raptor descends from the clouds, the familiar hum of its engines bringing a smile to Sharon's face. She watches jealously as the craft levels out and circles lazily, the pilot indulging an inexplicable desire to take in the view. Sharon continues to wait alone, finally starting to shiver in the open air. She's reminded of Doc Cottle's complaints about the cylons' failure to upgrade the plumbing when they built their humanoid models, and decides that they might also have been well advised to increase tolerance of temperature extremes, too.

_But on some level, we all wanted to be human,_ she reminds herself. _The Tens said we hijacked humanity's destiny, and I guess the design of our humanoid models is the perfect evidence. We could have taken a human appearance while incorporating any number of optional upgrades. But we didn't. We satisfied ourselves with the pre-existing human form, complete with all its flaws and shortcomings. It's no wonder we lost – we lacked the imagination we needed to keep growing._

Sharon turns her right cheek toward the Raptor as it touches down on the ground, enjoying the familiar sensation of soaking in the heat rolling off the skin of the craft; it reminds her of the old days, before she knew she was a cylon, when the greatest joy in her life was flying. Things are different now; now she's happy just to be out of the cell that caged her for the better part of a year. The hatch hisses as the pressure seal is broken, and Sharon walks around the Raptor to see how many colonists are aboard. Three cylons step out – a Five and two more Eights – and three humans – two men and a woman – follow them. The woman stands close to the Five, lightly reaching for his hand, her glassy eyes indifferent to the barren landscape that stretches to the horizon. The two men, on the other hand, immediately take stock of their surroundings, just as Sharon expects.

This scene has played itself out so many times that Sharon hardly notices anymore. The human women who come here were almost all forced into "relationships" with a chosen cylon male. They often felt lucky enough not to be hooked up to tubes at a farm, and they spent most of their waking hours working to keep their cylon "mates" happy, knowing the alternative that awaited them. After a while, this constant effort to satisfy the cylons resulted in them forming emotional bonds. It's classic hostage psychology, and so many of the victorious, returning humans saw these women as collaborators that they didn't care enough to try to rehabilitate them; they're far happier packing the women onto Raptors and sending them away forever.

The men, on the other hand, were all volunteers from the start. If a woman in the human resistance was captured, she was sent to a farm; if a man was caught, he was executed. Men weren't as valuable, and the cylons were able to fill their needs by employing only those men who willingly entered cylon strongholds with the intent to surrender and commit themselves to the cylon cross-breeding program. Any demonstration of defiance meant immediate death, and that fact hung over hostage men's heads like the Sword of Damocles. But now that threat is gone, and the men know it. Their own people sent them away as traitors, and they realize that the cylons brought them along because they need them. They need strong backs as much as they need fathers for prospective hybrid children.

Sharon recalls something Helo told her, that these men are dangerous beyond words. _They've already demonstrated the weakness of their moral fiber,_ Sharon remembers Helo saying. _They betrayed their own species in order to save their own hides. If they could have betrayed the cylons to stay on Caprica, they would have; they're only here now because it was the one way to keep their necks out of a noose. They're gonna be trouble._ Sharon doesn't have to be human to know her husband is right about that, and she etches the faces of these men into her mind, cataloguing their appearance alongside dozens of others who've already settled in.

Sharon turns on her heel, ready to leave, when a man calls out behind her. "Hey," he says. "Who do I need to check in with?"

"Excuse me?" Sharon asks, turning back to find the Raptor pilot standing in front of her, unzipping his flight suit a few inches to cool off. "You're not supposed to check in with anyone. You're supposed to take off and not come back," she tells him.

"This is the last transport," the pilot answers. "One way trip – all of the astrogational data for the Colonies was wiped from the computers, just like all the data from beyond the red line was wiped from all Colonial records; I couldn't go back if I wanted to."

"Huh?" Sharon asks. It occurs to her that it's inevitable that one of these Raptor arrivals would be the last one ever, but she's surprised to find that there's no ceremony to mark the occasion. _Sure,_ she thinks bitterly, _I can just imagine the Sixes sitting around the campfire, painting banners to celebrate the official start of our exile._

"I'm the last pilot sent here," he says. "No more Raptors with emergency rations, no more cylon or human survivors. What we have here is all we have to work with."

"All 'we' have to work with?" Sharon repeats. "You're staying?"

"Like I said, it was a one-way trip. I dumped most of my remaining fuel just before I entered the atmosphere," the pilot explains. "Then I circled a few times to make sure she'll never have enough power to break orbit," he says, gesturing to the Raptor. "So yes, I'm staying."

"Why?" _He's not a cylon, and he didn't come here with a cylon woman. In fact, his face looks vaguely familiar. I think he was on _Galactica_. Why the hell is he here?_

"Does it matter?" he asks. "I volunteered for the one-way final trip, and Fleet Command granted my request. New Caprica's my home now."

"We don't call it New Caprica," Sharon tells him.

"Oh, right," he says apologetically. "I forgot about that. The humans still call it that… hard habit to break, I guess. But you just call it Ceti Alpha Five."

"No," Sharon corrects him. "We call it Mundus."

"Mundus?" the pilot repeats. "Hmm… Yeah, I guess that works."

"And there's a lot of work to do," Sharon says with a weary sigh, thinking of all of the chores she still has to finish after ducking in at home to check on Hera.

"I'm ready," the pilot assures her. "It's why I'm here, actually. Everyone on Caprica is just focused on rebuilding what they had. I think it's far more exciting to start over from scratch. I'm here to help build a whole new civilization."

"Oh," Sharon says, biting her tongue when at least a half-dozen discouraging comments spring to mind. She knows this pilot will regret his decision soon enough, that his starry-eyed, idealistic dreams will be a sour memory within weeks, if not days. _No reason to ruin the last few misled days he has left._ "So what's your name?" she asks as she starts to walk back home, leading the pilot back to what passed for the center of civilization on Mundus.

"Rutger," the pilot tells her. "My name's Jack Rutger."

_Fin _

**Author's Endnotes:** Well, this is the end of my ill-advised trilogy. At the risk of offending anyone by inadvertently leaving them out, I'd like to thank everyone for their comments, but also specifically **Evilclone**, **ozma914**, **Mariel3**, **Silwyna**, **pilotlover**, and **Ammonite** for frequent comments/criticisms. Such feedback is greatly valued.


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